Die Another Day
by DinaLori
Summary: When Bobby disappears after an encounter with the Leviathan Sam & Dean think they know what's behind it. But the truth is beyond any of their wildest dreams & will change the way they see the older hunter forever. Spoilers: SPN-7.10 HL-all episodes
1. Death's Revolving Door

A/N: After finally watching Death's Door (I avoided it for a long time. *MAJOR* denial here) two thoughts popped into my head almost simultaneously: 1. This is the second time a beloved Jim Beaver character has been shot in the head (the first being Ellsworth in _Deadwood_.) And 2. Bobby is *NOT* dead! I refuse to believe it-*sticking fingers in ears* "la-la-la-la-la I can't hear you!"

So this... whatever this is... is how my brain decided to fix things. Knowledge of the crossover series not necessary, I'll include any pertinent information on them within the body of the story. I have absolutely _no_ idea where this will end up. It could just be a short one or two chapter fic or it could turn into an ongoing thing. It all depends on feedback and what the voices in my head tell me to do.

This is the first thing I've written in over five years and the first ever in the Supernatural universe. You have been warned.

* * *

><p>oooOOOooo<p>

Chapter 1: Death's Revolving Door

Dean was numb. No, not numb. Dead. He felt dead inside. The sights and sounds of the hospital swirled around him but he was oblivious to it all. He sat unblinking in one of those hard plastic chairs that hospitals seemed to like so much. _It's like they want to add to the suffering of the poor saps that needed to use them, _he thought to himself. _Can't even give us one small comfort_. He sighed and shifted his weight a bit, wishing his brother would hurry up. Sam was off talking to someone about Bobby's... about Bobby. The hospital douche bag had appeared at their side the second after it had happened. There were forms and questions, hospital policy he'd said. Then he'd asked about making arrangements for "the body" and Dean lost it. He stormed out into the hospital parking lot and promptly threw up the coffee and donut he'd managed to force down earlier. He stood there retching for a while, then leaned against a light post trying to catch his breath. This couldn't be real. Bobby couldn't be...

He finally managed to pull himself together enough to go back for his brother. Sam was waiting for him, and promised to take care of everything. It was a bad sign that "Sam, Interrupted" was the more stable one of them now and all Dean could do was sit there waiting outside the morgue. Where Bobby was. _Damn it, I do not want to be thinking about this._He didn't want to think at all, which is what led him to the belief he was dead inside. Dead men didn't need to think, so that's what he wanted to be. Not that that's how it ever worked all the times he *had* been dead. Some supernatural S.O.B. or another always made sure he didn't "rest in peace." Reapers, demons, angels- they always played with him first. Bounced him around like a damn rubber ball before bringing him back to life. But not this time. No, this time Dean decided he was just going to be good old fashioned dead. He remembered how he felt after his father died, and this? This was so much worse. His Mom, Dad, Cas, Lisa and Ben, Rufus, Ellen and Jo. It seemed like all he did was lose the people he cared about. But not Bobby. Bobby was always there for him no matter what. Through death and pain. Monsters, demons and angels. Hell and even the damn apocalypse. Bobby was always there. But now? No, Dean wasn't going to think about that. Catching movement out of the corner of his eye he looked up in time to see Sam walk over.

"Ok, so I talked to the guy about Bobby," Sam said softly as he took a seat next to his brother. "I told him that his religion demands he be buried before the next sunset after death so they're gonna put a rush on the... the autopsy." Both boys flinched at the word. "We can take him after that."

"We should just grab him now."

"Dean..."

"No, Sam." Dean turned to face him, and in his eyes Sam could see pain, grief and rage all competing for dominance. "We don't need an autopsy to know what happened. We know what happened! And I do *not* want him being treated like some damn frog in a dissection lab!"

"Dean, Bobby was shot. The police-"

"The police what? What are the cops gonna do about this, huh?" By the look on Dean's face Sam could tell that rage had won top spot for now. "It's not like there's gonna be an arrest or a trial. This isn't one of their cases, it's one of ours. So we should just take Bobby's... we should take Bobby, do right by him, and then hunt down every last one of those big mouthed sons of bitches!"

Anything else he might have said was cut off as another man wearing a suit and hospital ID stepped towards them. "Excuse me, are you relatives of Mr. Singer?"

"His nephews," Sam replied as both he and Dean stood to face the man.

"I'm sorry, but I'm afraid there'll be a bit of a delay in releasing your uncle's body."

"What do you mean? Why?" Dean Demanded. He briefly wondered if they'd found some piece of evidence linking Bobby to one of their jobs. But no, even if there was something to be found, forensic analysis takes time. There was no way they could have come up with something that fast.

"I'm sure it's just a clerical error," the man said. "But we... can't seem to find the body. It was probably just misidentified as someone else. I'm sure we'll find him shortly-"

"Missing?" Dean felt his blood turn cold. _No-no-no, this was not happening_. "Missing how?"

"As I said," he answered, nervously taking a step back. "It's most likely a simple error. The orderly transported your uncle's body to the morgue. Because of his religious beliefs the autopsy was scheduled to be performed immediately. But when Dr. McCallum arrived the body was just... gone. I'm sure we'll have everything straightened out in an hour or two-"

That last comment was barely heard by Dean as he stormed down the corridor. The hospital wouldn't find Bobby because Dean knew what happened. Damn it, he thought. How could he have been so stupid! He should never have left him alone, not even for a minute!

"Dean! Dean, wait up!" Sam ran to catch up with him just as he exited the building. "Look, I know what you're thinking, but we don't know for sure-"

"Oh we know, Sam!" Night was falling and Dean stopped near a landscaped area just as the light posts flickered on. "Sam, Dick. Was. Here. He was taunting me earlier and now Bobby's body-" Dean closed his eyes and drew a ragged breath. He couldn't stand thinking of him as just a body. "Bobby's gone now. And you expect me to believe it's just a coincidence?"

"No, you're right. It's probably not a coincidence. But what can we do?" The question was scarcely more than a whisper and Dean could see that his brother was barely hanging on.

"We go back to that building Dick was operating out of and we get him back. He is not going to be Leviathan chow!" Dean's voice was beginning to waver now, his grief pushing to the forefront. "We can't let them snack on him, Sam. This is Bobby we're talkin' about! We just can't-"

"I was afraid you two yahoos would react like this."

Sam and Dean spun quickly towards the voice coming from the bushes, then froze in disbelief. Dean stared at the man in front of them and for a brief moment allowed himself to feel a flicker of hope. _Bobby? Can it be?_The graying hair, the beard, and even the gruff voice were all the same. But then reality came crashing down on him once more and he remembered that Bobby was dead. Shot and killed by one of the Leviathan, who at the time had assumed the form of Dick Roman. That's what this was, he realized. Another Leviathan posing as Bobby. "Give him back you son of a bitch!" Dean growled, drawing his gun on the... thing in front of him. "You think just 'cause you're wearing Bobby's face I won't shoot you?"

"Ok, just calm down, son. It's me." The man raised his hands in a submissive pose and took a step closer.

"Calm down?" CALM DOWN?" Dean shouted. "Less than an hour ago Bobby was on a morgue slab with a bullet hole in his head, and now you expect me to believe he's walkin' and talkin' like nothing happened?"

"What are you?" Sam asked, pulling his own gun from his waistband.

"I'm... me, boys. I swear, I'm just... look, I'll prove it to ya." He pointed towards the van they had been using. "My bag's over there. One of you go grab it and you'll have everything you need to satisfy yourselves that I am who I say I am."

"Oh yeah, like we're really gonna fall for that." Dean was getting angrier by the minute. "We separate and then you and some of your buddies jump us, right?" He began slowly tightening his grip on his weapon. Shooting one of these things might not kill it, but it would make him feel a lot better.

"Dean, now... just stop and think," the man said, seeming to realize Dean was seconds away from pulling the trigger. "First of all what kind of stupid monster plan would involve me standing in the bushes buck naked, wrapped up in a sheet?" For the first time since the standoff began Dean and Sam looked past the man's face to the rest of him, and a white sheet tied toga style around his body seemed to be the only thing he was wearing. "Secondly, follow this through to its logical conclusion," he continued. "You shoot me, and I'm a Leviathan all I'm gonna do it start spurting black goo and get pissed off. But if I'm telling the truth... if I am Bobby Singer and you shoot me, then what?" He grinned a bit and shook his head. "Come on boy, is it really that hard to believe? The two of you've come back from the dead how many times now? We hit double digits yet?"

Dean hesitated. While his head was telling him Bobby was dead and he should just shoot the son of a bitch, some part of him was still hoping to get him back. Bobby had become like a father to both him and Sam ever since their own dad died. Hell, if he were being honest he'd been more of a father to them than their real dad right from the start. He stole a look at Sam and saw the same conflict playing across his brother's face. Could it be true? The man...thing...whatever it was had a point. Dying didn't seem to be very permanent where he and Sam were concerned. Plus Cas had come back twice, and even Bobby himself had died once before when Lucifer snapped his neck back in Stull cemetery. If there was even a chance...

"Ok, here's how this is going to go," Dean began, making his choice. "All three of us are gonna walk over to the van. Together. You're gonna walk in front of Sam and me, and so help me God, if you so much as sneeze we *will* start shooting."

The three men shared a look and nodded, then began making their way across the parking lot. Sam and Dean had hidden their guns in their jacket pockets, but kept them trained on the figure walking before them. Reaching the van Dean kept close watch while Sam opened the side door and entered first. Then the man claiming to be Bobby clumsily followed, having difficulty because of the sheet wrapped around his legs. Lastly Dean got in and shut the door behind him. Now that they were away from prying eyes the brothers didn't bother to conceal their weapons anymore.

"Well, ain't this cozy," the man said, then glancing at the guns still aimed at him added. "You mind putting those away? I've already been shot once this week. Really rather not do it again."

Dean snorted, but slowly lowered his gun. "You said you could prove you're Bobby. So? Let's get to it."

The man reached for his bag, but Dean stopped him halfway. He didn't intend to give the guy a chance to get the upper hand. Not until he was sure. The man nodded in understanding, and just pointed to a zipper compartment on one end of the duffle. "There'll be a silver knife in there." Dean reached in and retrieved the weapon. "Look familiar?" he asked and Dean realized he was holding the same blade Bobby had pulled on him four years earlier after he'd been yanked from the pit. "Go ahead. Satisfy your curiosity," he said, offering Dean his left arm. Pausing only a moment, he sliced the knife through the skin deep enough to draw blood. "Red blood not black goo, so not one of the big mouths" the man said, wincing slightly from the pain. "And no reaction to the silver, so not a shifter or revenant." Dean's eyes went wide and he could hear his heart pounding in his ears. Could it really be?

The man then turned to Sam. "Gimme your holy water flask." Dean could see his brother was shaking as he pulled the silver flask from his pocket and handed it over, his tenuous hold on his emotions nearing the breaking point. The man downed a large swallow, then splashed some across his own face, winking at Dean. "I'm not a demon either, you know."

The van went deathly quiet as all three men held their collective breath, then Sam broke the silence with a whispered "Bobby?"

Bobby turned and nodded, then let out a startled yelp as Sam launched himself at the old hunter, pulling him into a bone-crushing hug. "Sam... need...air..." he gasped, prompting Sam to quickly release him.

"Bobby, I'm so sorry. I, I didn't mean to- I'm sorry, are you ok? Do you need anything?" Sam was babbling now and Dean was worried the last string holding Sam's sanity together had just snapped.

"I'm fine, Sam. Honest." Bobby smiled at the young man, his eyes glistening with unshed tears. "Trust me on this, I ain't some china doll you gotta worry about breaking." He reached out a hand to give Sam's shoulder a squeeze. "It's all right, son."

Dean just watched the two of them together silently. Not moving. Barely breathing. As if he was afraid the slightest thing would cause him to wake up and realize this was all a dream.

Bobby looked at him and smiled, reaching out his hand. "Dean?"

Dean shifted his attention from Bobby's eyes to the offered hand then back again. He could feel his chin start to quiver, and the part of him that always mocked touchy-feely chick-flick moments insisted he was acting like a girl. But he didn't care. As he grasped Bobby's hand to pull him into an embrace he told himself he'd wear eyeliner and a skirt just as long as it meant Bobby was alive. Dean chuckled as he felt another set of arms wrap around him and realized Sam had come back for seconds.

"You damn idjits," Bobby laughed as Sam moved in for a group hug. He pulled back to look at Sam and Dean- his boys- and grasped each of them on the side of the head. "Sorry I put you two through this."

"Bobby, not to be looking a gift horse in the mouth here," Dean said, still not quite believing his eyes. "But what the hell? You had a freakin' bullet in your brain, how are you still breathing air?"

"Was it angels?" Sam asked. "They finally get off their feathered asses and decide to help?"

"No, not angels." Bobby scratched his beard, trying to find a way to explain this. "Damn, I knew I should have told you boys sooner."

"Oh, man," Dean groaned. "Please tell me this doesn't have anything to do with Crowley."

Snorting, Bobby said, "Right. Cause it worked out so well last time I played 'Let's Make A Deal.' No, Dean, demons had nothing to do with it."

"Well then what?"

Just as Bobby was about to say something the lights from an approaching car shone through the windows causing all three men to tense up.

"We're too exposed here," Bobby said. "We need to get someplace safe."

"Bobby!"

"I ain't trying to sidestep the question. Look, I promise I'll tell you everything. The whole story from opening credits to curtain fall. But it's a long one and we need to be somewhere secure," he said, then looking down at the sheet wrapped around him added, "Preferably someplace with pants."

oooOOOooo

An hour later, after stopping at a diner for take out and a liquor store for "supplies", they were all back at the abandoned house they'd been staying at. While Bobby dressed Dean went through the cupboards looking for something to drink out of, eventually finding two old Star Wars glasses from Burger King (he briefly wondered if they were worth anything on eBay) and a chipped coffee mug. Setting them on the table he began pouring whiskey into each as Bobby entered the room.

"Welcome back to life," Dean quipped, passing Bobby the mug and one of the glasses to Sam.

"L'Chaim," Bobby answered, downing the amber liquid in one gulp.

Sam set his glass down and faced Bobby. "Ok, so we've waited like you asked. And now you're dressed, and we're about as safe as we're likely to get anytime soon. Bobby, how are you alive? And what did you mean you should have told us sooner? Told us what?"

"Yeah," Dean added with a questioning smile. "You promised us a story. So come on Mark Twain, let's have it."

Bobby sighed and started pouring himself another shot. "All right. Boys, first you gotta understand, like I said it's a long story. Longer than you can even imagine. Well, might as well start at the beginning." Bobby quickly drained his mug and blew out a breath. "My real name is Whitney Conway Ellsworth. I was born in 1822 in the Missouri territories." He paused briefly, looking first Sam, then Dean square in the eye. "And I'm immortal."


	2. It's a Kind of Magic

A/N: Thank you to everyone who left a review or put an alert on this story. I'm glad other people like the idea of keeping Bobby alive as much as I do.

Too Many Screennames: In answer to your question about the name Ellsworth, it's Jim Beaver's character in Deadwood (who ironically also died from a gunshot wound to the head.) In my story Ellsworth and Bobby are the same person just using different names in different centuries. So this is actually a triple cross: Supernatural, Highlander and Deadwood.

Sorry about the amount of exposition in this chapter, but Sam and Dean have a lot of questions for Bobby.

Disclaimer: I own nothing associated with Supernatural, Highlander or Deadwood. This story is offered up out of pure love for the shows and the phenomenal talent of Jim Beaver.

Chapter 2: It's a Kind of Magic

Bobby licked his lips and waited. The cat was out of the bag now and all he could do was hope the boys could handle it. He hoped that with all the supernatural crap they'd already dealt with they'd be able to accept that he was the still the same crotchety old hunter they'd always known. He hoped, but he was also a realist. He knew of others like himself who had been abandoned by family and friends when they were found out, some of whom were even hunted- accused of being witches or demons and driven from their homes. Then there was his own past... _no, best not to go there_, he thought.

His eyes flitted from one brother to the other searching for some sign of what they were thinking, but all he got was a blank stare in response. The only sounds in the room were the crackling of the fire they had lit in the hearth and the wind whistling through the cracks in the walls of the old house. As the minutes slowly passed, each feeling like an eternity, he finally couldn't take it anymore. "Well, damn it, somebody say something!"

Dean rapidly blinked. "I'm sorry... you're who from when and where?"

"You... you did just say... immortal...right, Bobby?" Sam was staring at him, his mouth slightly open and a confused look on his face.

"Yeah."

"Immortal." Dean struggled to process the information. "Immortal as in...?"

"As in, gunshot wounds?" Bobby pointed to his forehead. "Not so lethal. Neither is stabbing, hanging, drowning, electrocution-" He paced in front of them, ticking the items off on his fingers. "Poison, falling off buildings, car wrecks. I was partially eaten by a bear once," he said, then muttered that quietly to himself. "Now _there's_ an experience I never want to have again."

The brothers startled and looked at each other wide-eyed. _Bear?_ Dean mouthed silently to Sam.

"And as far as the 'occupational hazards' of hunting go," Bobby continued. "I'm immune to werewolf and skin-walker bites as well as vamp blood. So don't worry about me turning and whatever you do, do _not_ chop my head off!"

Dean raised his hands in surrender. "I need to sit down." He staggered to the kitchen counter and hoisted himself up, gazing absently off into space.

"But... but how?" Sam shook his head and stared at Bobby as he took a seat by the table. "I mean... Bobby... what are you?"

He drew in a sharp breath, feeling like he'd been struck. '_What_ are you?' Sam had asked. It was a reasonable question, given their lives, but it hurt just the same. Not _who_ are you. _What_. That was one of the main reasons he hadn't mentioned this before. One of the reasons his kind hid their existence from the rest of humanity. The knowledge that others would fear them; think of them as creatures rather than people. They feared that the witch-hunts would begin again.

Sam must have realized how what he'd said affected the older man (_much, much older_, he thought to himself) because he quickly backpedaled. "Bobby, no. I didn't mean... Look... Dean and I aren't exactly 'Joe Average' here either. It's just... I guess you kinda caught us by surprise."

"Yeah, well... I suppose it is a lot to take in." Bobby pulled up a chair and sat resting his forearms on his knees, fingers interlaced. "As for 'what' I am, I'm human." He saw the skeptical look they gave him and continued. "Look, I don't drink blood or eat hearts or... suck folk's brains out through their nostrils."

"Now there's a lovely image," Dean mumbled.

Bobby ignored Dean's comment and went on. "The only difference between me, you and John Q. Public is that I heal quickly from almost any wound and I've stopped getting any older."

"Kinda a big difference there Bobby," Dean said, letting his amazement show. "How exactly are you doing it? Is it a spell? Some kind of magic... or what?"

He snorted and rolled his eyes. "Nothing like that. I ain't a witch. Though some of us have been accused of it in the past. No, I was just... born like this."

"Like Wolverine from the X-Men." Dean offered, hoping that he was starting to understand.

Bobby considered the analogy for a moment. "Well, yeah I guess. Minus the claws and bad haircut. Immortality, it's... uh... it's sort of a dormant trait at first. We start out like everybody else- we're kids, we grow up, get older, get hurt and sick. It doesn't kick in right away."

"So... what then?" Sam asked. "You just decide one day to flip the switch?"

"Oh yeah," he said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "'Cause I had the choice of when to freeze-frame myself and instead of doing it when I was young and in my prime I waited until I turned into this sorry sack of bones." Bobby scowled at him. "No, Einstein, I didn't get to pick. Hell, I didn't even know about it until after it happened. None of us do. There's nothing that really sets us apart from the rest of humanity. We can even die of disease or old age at first and then that's it, we're gone for good. But if..." He paused and raised one finger for emphasis. "_If_ we die a violent death, then the immortality gets activated. We don't get sick anymore. Wounds close up almost instantly. And whatever age we were when we bit it, that's the way we look from then on."

Dean nodded slowly. "So you 'died' bloody and then woke up Immortal."

"Confused the hell out of me at first, let me tell you." Bobby shook his head. "I was a prospector in what you'd call the 'Old West.' Had a working gold claim in Deadwood, South Dakota. Not overly rich, but it paid out enough to keep me in food, whisky and whores."

"Bobby!" Dean exclaimed, wrinkling his nose in disgust.

"What?" he asked, sounding annoyed. "You thought I was a monk? I had needs just like any man."

"Dude...too much information! That's as bad as thinking about 'Dad sex'. Come on!"

Waving a dismissive hand in Dean's direction he continued. "I also managed the widow Garret's gold mine, and it was a pretty lucrative one too. Biggest individual claim in the territory. About a year after I started working for her we were married. A few months after that someone offered to buy the mine from her and Alma, my wife, didn't want to sell... Let's just say my death was intended as a negotiating tactic." He grimaced at the memory of that day, his eyes taking on a faraway look. "One minute I've got a gun pointed right at my head, and the next thing I know I'm waking up at the Doc's place with the worst headache of my life and my face covered in blood but no wound. And that was just the beginning: after that, things really got weird."

"So, if you didn't know you were Immortal beforehand how'd you figure it out?" Sam asked.

Bobby sat up and poured himself another drink. This was going to be a long night, he decided. "Doc Cochran, the town physician, he'd met an Immortal during the war. The Civil War, that is. When he saw me wake up after taking a bullet to the brain he figured I was the same as his friend and sent off a telegram asking him what to do about me. I'd spent a couple of months hiding in the woods before someone finally showed up."

"Hiding?" Sam was trying his best to wrap his head around all of this. "I don't get it. Why were you hiding?"

"Because the whole town saw me with a hole in my forehead," he answered with a frown as if to say: _Isn't it_ _obvious?_ "If I'd come back before anybody had known I'd died it'd have been different. I could have gone on with my life as it was, at least for a while. But I got shot up at the mine and my 'body' was driven into town straight down the main thoroughfare. In front of everybody. Can you imagine the reaction there'd have been if I started walking around after that?"

He frowned and nodded. "Yeah, I guess I see your point."

"Finally, after what felt like forever, this fellow shows up and starts explaining to me what I just explained to you two." Bobby fumbled with the mug in his hands. It had been a while since he'd thought about his first teacher. "He offered to take me on as a student and show me how to survive as an Immortal. He taught me how to create a new life, how to hide what I was. And how to... deal with the others like us."

"So how many more are there?" The hunter in Dean took over and he felt the need to know exactly what they were dealing with. In all the research he'd done for hunts over the years he'd never once found anything like what Bobby was telling them and that bothered him. In his experience a lack of knowledge meant trouble in the long run. "And are they dangerous? The others I mean."

He shrugged and took a long gulp of whisky. "I don't know how many for sure. Don't think anyone really has an exact count on it, but maybe a few thousand worldwide. As for them being dangerous, some are. Most aren't though."

"A few...?" Dean's mind was reeling. The drink in his hand forgotten as he realized the man he'd thought of like a father was really a mystery to him. "Ok, well, here's another question for you: why are you all here? You know…I mean…what is it you want?"

Bobby couldn't help but laugh. "Boy, you sure don't ask easy the easy questions do you?" Taking off his hat he pushed a hand through his hair and searched for the best way to explain. "Dean, you gotta remember we're people just like everybody else. So we all want different things. Most of us just want to live out as normal a life as we can get. Others choose to try and make the world a better place. They become doctors, scientists, lawmen or holy people. Some even become hunters."

"Like you," Sam said, smiling.

"Me and a few others." Bobby carefully chose his next words. "But of course everybody's got their bad guys. Just like mortals we have our psychos too. Immortals who run the gamut from petty criminals to flat out crazies to megalomaniacs who want to rule the world and see mortals as insignificant pawns to be used however they want."

"Awesome. Another group who thinks of us as mud monkeys." Dean glared and finished off his drink, slamming the glass down beside himself. "Ok, let me recap just to make sure we're all on the same page here." Dean slid off the counter and walked slowly towards Bobby. "You've been alive almost 200 years. There are thousands like you all over the place, some good, some bad. Your kind doesn't get any older, they can't get sick and they can't be killed. That about cover it?"

"Well..." Bobby hesitated. "There is one way we can die."

Sam was deep in thought for a moment, and then grinned slightly, another puzzle piece fitting into place. "Decapitation. Right?"

"How'd you figure?" Bobby wasn't really surprised. Sam had been researching ways to kill various things since he was a boy, so naturally his mind would automatically try to work it out.

"When you were talking about the vamp blood," Sam said smiling widely, "you were pretty adamant about us not taking your head off. So, I figured if that was just another temporary inconvenience like getting shot you wouldn't have gotten so upset."

"Yeah, you're right." Bobby blew out a breath, feeling uneasy. He was trusting the boys with his 'Kryptonite', but he knew they'd have trusted him with the same. "If something like an arm or a leg gets cut off it stays off. We don't grow a new one. And if we lose our head? Game over."

"So your bad guys," Sam continued. "What do you do about them? I'd imagine a guy serving a life sentence and never aging or being sent to the electric chair and walking away after would kinda get noticed."

"You don't need to worry about them." Bobby said, finishing off his drink. "We police our own. If any immortal starts causing trouble someone will step in and handle them."

"By handle you mean…?" Dean drew a finger across his throat and grimaced. "Guess no one can accuse you guys of being soft on crime."

"If it's a minor problem, like stealing, we let the regular authorities deal with them. But if people are getting hurt then it's like...putting down a rabid dog. It's just something that needs to be done." He searched his memory for a good example. "There was a serial killer back in the 20's up in Washington State. Used to kill pretty blonde girls by scalping them. He was one of us. A friend of mine was the one who stopped him, as well as several others over his lifetime." He smiled at the thought of the older Immortal. "Mac's helped a lot of people over the centuries."

"This whole thinking in terms of centuries is freaking me out, Bobby," Dean said, pinching the bridge of his nose. "But it sounds like he was a pretty good guy."

"Still is." Bobby paused and considered bringing Mac into the conversation. He could use some back up when he told the boys the rest of it. Maybe a phone call was in order. "He tries to help people wherever and however he can. Started hunting a few years back after running into his first demon in four hundred years."

Dean froze in shock. _Did he really just say four hundred years?_ "Like I said, sounds like a good guy," he said slowly then wrinkled his forehead in thought. "Let me ask you something. You're around one-ninety; this 'Mac' is centuries old. So how long do you people live anyway?"

Bobby shrugged. "We don't really have an expiration date; we just keep on going until we lose our heads somehow."

"But that's pretty rare right?" Dean seemed to be getting excited now-his eyes were bright as he shifted his weight from one foot to the other. "I mean, how often do you hear about death by beheading? So, odds are unless you do something to call down 'Immortal justice' on yourself... you're never going to die."

Bobby smiled sadly and bowed his head. He'd known these two for most of their lives and had gotten good at reading between the lines. He knew what Dean was really saying: _I'm never going to lose you._ He looked up and watched Sam and Dean's faces carefully. In them he saw something he hadn't seen in years. He saw hope. He couldn't take that away; couldn't tell them the rest of it. Not yet.

"Boys, I wish I could promise you forever. I really wish I could. But it's not just other Immortals that can take my head, it's anything. Some demon or ghost might get lucky, or a vamp might decide to turn the tables. I just don't know." Taking a deep breath he continued. "What I do know is that I'm a hell of a lot harder to kill than most folk. And I've been around long enough to know how to keep myself alive." He smiled warmly at them. "So I guess what I'm saying is... you two are stuck with me for the long haul."

It was as if Christmas had come early for the Winchesters. The look of pure joy they both wore was truly a sight to behold. Finally. Finally something good had happened to their family. Something that didn't depend on deals, spells or bargaining with a supernatural entity. Dean clapped his hands once and reached for the bags of take-out that had been all but forgotten after Bobby's revelation. "Ok then! Anybody else hungry?"

Bobby closed his eyes for a moment in relief. He knew this wasn't the end of it, but at least the hard part was over. "Sure, just so long as you don't have a Turducken in there."

"Dude!" He pulled a face and shuddered as he passed out the Styrofoam containers that held their dinner. "Seriously, do not remind me of that!"

"Maybe now you'll be choosier about what you eat." He laughed at Dean's reaction, then paused briefly to examine his order, wondering if he'd ever be able to look at diner food the same way again.

"You know I just thought of something," Sam said, interrupting his thoughts. "You said you were born in 1822? That means you were alive during the Civil War. I mean, you actually witnessed all that history?"

Bobby grinned. He'd expected Sam, with his love of learning and research, to latch on to the "I was there, I saw it happen" aspect of immortality. "Well, I was busy prospecting during the war, so it's not like I had a front row seat. But yeah, I was around then. I lived through the abolition of slavery, the annexation of many of the states. I saw the Eiffel Tower being built in Paris in 1888 and I was in London during the Blitz. I've lived in dozens of different places all over the globe, met all kinds of people."

"You meet anybody famous or do anything big?" Dean's curiosity was piqued now. He took a big bite of his burger and asked through a mouthful of food, "You know, sail on the Titanic or attempt to assassinate Hitler or anything?"

"No, that'd be Mac that tried to take out Hitler; I was busy working with the Red Cross as a translator at the time." Bobby was starting to enjoy seeing the looks of shock Sam and Dean gave him and decided to toss out another piece of personal history. "The closest I ever got to fame was serving as a juror on the Jack McCall murder trial back in Deadwood." Bobby chuckled softly at the wide-eyed look Dean was giving him, remembering Sam's comment about Dean's 'western fetish.' "Oh, and Jane Cannary took a shine to my stepdaughter Sofia, so I'd see her around a lot."

"Jack McCall?" Dean was practically salivating now. "You mean the guy who killed Wild Bill Hickok? And 'Calamity' Jane Cannary? You actually knew them?"

"Well, not Hickok." He reached into one of the bags and pulled out a bottle of water. Now that he didn't need 'liquid courage' anymore he decided to quit for the night. "I'd seen him across the way a few times but I favored the Gem Saloon; Hickok preferred Tom Nuttall's place. Plus he was only in the camp for ten days before he was shot and killed, so our paths didn't have much of a chance to cross."

"Shot in the head from behind during a poker game." Dean huffed and shook his head. "Shot in the head, that seems to be the theme of the day."

"Apparently." Bobby nodded at first, then got a thoughtful look on his face. "Actually, I'm kinda glad it happened this time."

"Excuse me?" Sam dropped his fork in surprise, unable to believe what he was hearing. "You're... you're glad Dick shot you?"

"Well, not specifically that," he replied. "But at least now I know for sure I'm still Immortal."

Dean was confused again. It was like every answer Bobby gave created twenty new questions. "You can lose your immortality? Other than being decapitated that is?"

"Before that year I spent playing 'Ironsides' I'd have said no. But everything changed when that happened." Bobby frowned and dropped his sandwich, his appetite lost at the memory of that nightmare year. "That stab wound I gave myself to kill the demon should've been nothing but a paper cut for someone like me. Once you pulled that blade outta my gut I should've started healing and been up and running before you even got me to the car. But Zachariah... he suppressed my ability to heal somehow … stuck me in that chair."

"So you're not immune to everything supernatural?" Dean was back to being worried again. He'd been thrilled to learn Bobby couldn't be killed by most means. But if there were things out there that could still jerk him around then he wasn't as safe as he'd hoped.

"Nope. Angels and demons can't kill me, but they can still screw with me. And let me tell you, old Zach did a real number. Even after you killed him that angel's mojo kept working. Until this happened," he said, pointing to where the gunshot wound had been. "It was almost like I was mortal again. Cuts took a long time to heal and I started getting new scars."

Bobby stood and began to pace, clenching and unclenching his hands. Being paralyzed would have been enough for any man to deal with. Add to that his sudden vulnerability after more than a century and he'd been pushed to the breaking point. "Immortals don't scar. We get cut and three minutes later it's like nothing happened. Or at least, that's the way it's supposed to happen."

"Damn," Dean said. "I knew Zach messed you up, but I had no idea."

Bobby nodded and continued. "Then there was that poker-playing witch. I figured what the hell. I got an unlimited number of years, so if I lose, no harm, no foul. Didn't figure he could actually age me. Well, you know how that turned out."

"So, witches too, huh?"

"Yeah," Bobby said, grimacing, "I'm as vulnerable to spells as anyone. I asked a friend if she knew of some kind of charm or amulet we could use for protection, but she hasn't come up with anything." _Need to get in touch with her too_, he thought. _She might've come up with something to help with the current_ _monster problem_. "Let me borrow a phone. I lost mine when the Leviathan grabbed me."

"We got it back." Sam pulled the phone from his pocket and flipping it open passed it to Bobby. "Found it on the roof where it fell."

"Excuse me for a minute." Wrapping his fingers around the device he gave Sam a smile of thanks and walked out to the front porch, staring out into the darkness as he mulled over what to say. Bringing mortals in on the secret always carried risks, but he was fairly confident that the two groups would be able to get along. Hitting the speed dial he tried first one number then another, then another, all of them going straight to voicemail.

He tapped the phone against his palm and gave a heavy sigh, considering his next move. They needed to get as far from Dick Roman and the other Leviathan as soon as possible. Somewhere safe. Somewhere where the boys could process not only what he'd just told them but also what he still needed to. Somewhere that couldn't be connected to the Winchesters or Bobby Singer.

He knew just the place.

"Well, if you boys are up to it I got a little road trip in mind," he said as he re-entered the room. "I've got a house; it's got Fort Knox security and is warded up the wazoo. Plus copies of nearly every book, scroll and scrap of paper we lost in Sioux Falls and then some. We'll be safe there from most everything and it'll give you two a chance to breathe, regroup and... wrap your heads around everything I just told you."

Dean frowned in confusion and glanced at his brother who had a similar look. "Sounds great, but if this place is so perfect why didn't we go there when your house burned down?"

"A couple of reasons. First of all I've got souvenirs and pictures from the last one hundred and thirty years of my life there. Between losing Cas and Sam's wall coming down I wasn't sure you could handle knowing the truth about me then. Speaking of which," Bobby said as he looked over the both of them, "How are you two holding up? This is some major crap I just unloaded on you."

"We're good," Dean volunteered a little too fast, smiling a little too widely.

Sam didn't waste time either. "Honestly, Bobby. We're fine."

He arched one eyebrow at them and frowned. "Really?"

"Yeah." Dean nodded emphatically at first then sighed and covered his eyes with his hand. "No. Not really. To tell you the truth... I feel like my brain is turning into tapioca pudding."

"Already there," Sam admitted, raising his hand. "Honestly, of all the things I thought you might say…"

He knew what Sam would say next. "This never even made the list, huh?"

Sam shook his head. "Not even close.

"Don't get me wrong," Dean added, "I am _thrilled_ that you're ok and that you're probably going to stay ok until long after my bones have turned to dust. But this?" He waved his hands in a gesture of helplessness. "I don't even know what to think."

Bobby sighed and nodded in understanding. "Then I should probably hold back on the rest until after you've digested this bit?"

He slumped his shoulders and hung his head in defeat. "Oh, God, there's more?"

"Yeah, there's more." He couldn't decide whether to laugh or offer sympathy. On the one hand the expressions they wore made them look like lost puppies. On the other, his boys were suffering. Because of him. The simple fact that they hadn't mentioned the Leviathan even once all night alone spoke volumes. "Look, I don't want to fry your circuits anymore than I already have. The two of you finish your food and try to get some sleep. We'll get moving first thing tomorrow and I'll give you the rest of the story. All of it."

_And then God help us all_, he thought.


	3. On the Road Again

A/N: Remember how I originally said this might be just a short one or two chapter fic? Well, how does a minimum of sixteen chapters and at least one sequel sound? It seems my Bobby Muse has turned into quite the Chatty Cathy and Will. Not. Shut. Up. Also I now know exactly where this is headed, so it's easier to assemble the puzzle when you know what it should look like.

Too Many Screennames: Oh yeah, the Watcher situation is quite interesting. Joe Dawson and I have had many conversations about what it takes to be a hunter's watcher. Just wait. ;-) And Bobby's not the only hunter who's Immortal, so I'm sure the subject of angels came up at some point.

SlvrCld: Wow! Thanks for that awesome review. I'm not going to give away what's going to happen (where's the fun in that?), but I will tell you that some of the characters you mentioned will be playing a part in either this story or the sequel that follows.

Many thanks to dnachemlia and Adara-chan67 for betaing.

Disclaimer: I own nothing associated with Supernatural, Highlander or Deadwood. This story is offered up out of pure love for the shows and the phenomenal talent of Jim Beaver.

Chapter 3: On the Road Again

In the early morning hours a lone vehicle made its way west along the two lane blacktop. A blanket of thick clouds covered the sky, blotting out the sun and the promise of rain hung heavy in the air. The gloomy atmosphere outside contrasted sharply with the joyful enthusiasm of one of the vehicle's occupants.

"Come on Bobby, you can tell me. He's one of you, right?"

Sam looked up from where he sat slumped in the passenger's seat and smiled at his brother's eagerness. They'd gotten an early start that morning, while he and Dean slept Bobby spent his time loading up all their gear into the van. When they'd commented on his lack of sleep he'd simply remarked that a nineteen hour coma followed by a two hour death was the best 'power nap' he'd ever had. Neither brother knew what to say to that so they silently filed into the van and were off.

Ever since they started out on their way to Bobby's safe house Dean had been peppering the older man with questions about Immortals. Specifically, famous people who might be one. "I mean... look at the evidence," he continued, leaning back to grab a bottled water from the cooler. "He supposedly 'dies' right? But then people start seeing him all over the place. It even made the papers."

"Yeah, right next to alien abductions and interviews with a talking toaster," Bobby grumbled as he shot Dean a look in the rearview mirror. "I'm telling you you're wrong."

"You gotta admit Bobby," Sam volunteered, glancing up from his position. He was still a little hung over from the night before (neither brother had followed Bobby's lead to stop drinking for the night) and didn't want to do more than move his eyes. "We've investigated on less."

Dean grinned at his brother, surprised at the sudden support. "Exactly. Maybe he is and you just don't know it," he said, obviously not about to let this go.

"Dean, for the last time Elvis was not an Immortal!" Bobby growled at Dean and glared. Was the boy deliberately trying to piss him off? "I met him once after a concert in 1957, and I promise you the man was just a plain ol' ordinary human."

Frowning, Dean countered, "How could you have known for sure? What, you got a directory of every Immortal alive or something?"

"I just know, all right? " Bobby blew out an aggravated breath and stared at the road in front of him. His eyes moved rapidly from one side of the road to the other, fingers alternately gripping then drumming on the steering wheel. It seemed to Sam that he was mulling something over. "Look," he began, "Immortals have a way of... recognizing each other."

Sam perked up at this new information, as curious as his brother about this previously unknown part of the supernatural world. "There's a way to identify Immortals? What is it?" he asked. "A mark or an eye flare like shifters or something?"

"No, it's nothing you or any other mortal would notice." Bobby shook his head and stole a glance at the younger Winchester. "No, it's like... it's like we can... sense each other."

Sam and Dean shared a confused look. "Sense each other how?" they asked in unison.

Searching his mind for a way to describe the sensation Bobby settled on an analogy that he thought they'd understand. "You ever touch a wire that's not properly insulated? Get that weird buzzing vibration as the electricity travels through you?" Getting a nod from each he continued. "That's what it feels like-times a hundred. Put two or more of us near each other and it goes off like a car alarm."

"So you're saying... what? You can feel each other's auras?"

One look in the mirror at Dean's sarcastic grin made Bobby want to swing his arm around and knock that grin right off his face. "Thanks for making me sound like some kinda new age hippy chick, but yeah. Something like that," he said. "Point I'm trying to make is I got close enough to the man that he'd have set off my 'perimeter alert' if he'd been Immortal and...nothing. Sorry kid-" Bobby shrugged as he turned toward Dean. "But Elvis has left the building."

Sam chuckled at Dean's sad pout, looking like a child who'd just learned there was no Santa Claus. He was so focused on his brother that he was caught off guard by what Bobby said next.

"Lord Byron though, now he was one of us."

Sam shot up straight in his seat, his head and stomach protesting the sudden movement. "Lord Byron? The poet? 'She walks in beauty like the night', that Lord Byron?" Now it was Sam's turn to get excited. It hadn't occurred to him that Dean was right: that some Immortals had made it into the history books.

"Yep. I never met him myself but some friends of mine did. He developed quite an appetite for fame apparently and kept reinventing himself over the years." Bobby grinned like the cat that swallowed the canary. _You want a famous_ _Immortal, boy?_ he thought. _I'll give you a famous Immortal._ "Remember that singer Byron back in the nineties?"

"You mean that pathetic Jim Morrison wannabe?" Dean snorted. "Don't tell me he was the same guy as that poet of Sam's?"

"Yeah he was, only he wasn't a wannabe."

Dean furrowed his brow in confusion. "Wasn't a wannabe what?"

Bobby didn't answer, but rather just asked. "Ever seen a picture of Byron?"

"Yeah."

"Ever seen a picture of Jim Morrison?"

"Of course! Why?"

Sam was the first to connect the dots. "Oh my God...are you saying that... that all three of them-"

Bobby's grin now reached from ear to ear. "Were all the same man."

There was dead silence for several minutes then both brothers began talking at once.

"Jim Morrison's Immortal?"

"Lord Byron is Jim Morrison?"

"Are you freakin' kidding me!"

Sam's eyes glazed over in wonder. "God, can you imagine? To have the chance to actually talk to a literary legend like that?"

"There was no autopsy!" Dean said suddenly. At the confused looks he was getting Dean elaborated. "When Morrison OD'd in Paris there was no autopsy done. There's always been a controversy about his death because of that. Now it makes sense, he came back to life!"

"So he's been writing poetry for over a century?"

"He wrote poetry as Morrison too," Dean added. "And I guess 'Byron's' songs weren't _that_ bad. I was just turned off by how he was trying to cash in on the resemblance. Plus he seemed like a real douche bag. I wasn't surprised at all when I heard his decapitated body was found in-" The details of Byron's death suddenly hit Dean like a ton of bricks. "Oh no."

"He's dead?" Sam's face fell, remembering Bobby's description of immortal justice. "He went darkside?"

Bobby shifted in his seat, suddenly sorry for mentioning his name. "Yeah. Unfortunately several people died before he was stopped." Bobby could understand the boy's excitement; the thought of speaking to a century old legend was enticing even for him. He decided to try to make it up to them. "Da Vinci's a pretty decent guy though. I met him just after my third marriage..."

oooOOOooo

Around noon they stopped a little Mom and Pop restaurant. Over his lifetime Sam had eaten at more diners and take-out joints than he cared to think about, but this type has always been his favorite. The homey atmosphere and friendliness of the staff always made him feel like he belonged somewhere, even if only for an hour. _'Tastes just like homemade because it is!'_ was painted on the window, and if the aroma that enveloped him as he walked through the door was any indication he believed it. The usual smell of burgers and fries was in the air but also that of roasting meats and the unmistakable scent of freshly baked apple pie. _Guess I know what Dean will be ordering,_ he thought to himself.

Once they were seated and their orders taken Dean spoke up. "So, you gonna tell us where we're headed or do we just keep following the yellow brick road?"

"It's a little more than a day's drive from here if we keep going without stopping for the night," Bobby answered without really answering.

Sam and Dean hadn't missed that evasion. "Ok, but a day's drive to where?" Sam asked. "Why the mystery? I mean, we're gonna find out eventually, unless you plan on blindfolding us before we get to the city limits or something."

Bobby smiled slightly and shook his head. "No, you're right. I guess I'm just too used to being secretive about that part of my life." He paused briefly as the waitress brought them their drinks, thankful for the chance to gather his thoughts. "Long time ago I decided to move back to Deadwood. I missed the old place; some of my happiest memories were there. So I bought some land out in the woods and built a cabin, a sanctuary really. A place that I could go back to over the years to remind myself who I really was."

"But wait, how could you go back?" Sam questioned. "You said everyone thought you were dead, so what did you tell people?"

"First off this was almost twenty years after 'Ellsworth' died," he explained. "So a lot of the people I knew were gone; either moved on or dead." Bobby went silent for a moment, thinking about all the friends he'd lost. "To those who were still there I introduced myself as my own long-lost son. Said I researching my father's life, tracing his steps and such. It explained away the resemblance, and people were really nice to me." He grinned sheepishly then added, "Guess I never realized how much I was liked."

"So we're headed to Deadwood?" Dean asked, his eyes bright. He'd been obsessed with the history of the Old West for a long time. The movies, the legends, the history. It was the one subject in school he truly excelled at, and he could rattle off names, dates and events at the drop of a hat.

Bobby knew about all that and resigned himself to playing tour guide while they were there. "Yeah, that's where we're headed. You'll want to have a look around I assume?"

"I guess," he answered, trying not to sound too eager. "I mean it's a part of American history, not to mention your history. So, since we're not workin' a job it might be nice to see the sights."

"Uh-huh," Bobby mumbled, not buying Dean's disinterested act for a minute. Just as their server returned with their food Bobby's cell phone went off. As he glanced at the caller ID he smiled and took a deep breath, hoping he wouldn't regret answering. "Hey Mac, you get my message?"

Sam and Dean both looked up from their plates at the sound of that name. According to what Bobby said the night before, Mac was a centuries old Immortal who'd taken up hunting recently. Trying to appear nonchalant they paid close attention to Bobby's end of the conversation.

"What kind of situation?" Bobby frowned slightly, absentmindedly pushing his food around with his fork as he listened to what his friend was saying. "Yeah... Uh-huh... Sounds like a basic haunting. So what's the problem?"

Sam stopped feigning indifference and leaned forward. This sounded like a job. A job that might get them a chance to meet another Immortal. He glanced over at Dean and saw that he'd stopped chewing and was staring intently at Bobby, obviously just as interested in the conversation as Sam was.

"Five?" Bobby's eyebrows shot up toward his hairline. "Ok, yeah that would complicate things a bit, hang on a minute." He held a hand over the mouthpiece and turned to the boys. "Listen, a friend of mine's working a job that turned out to be bigger than expected. He could use a few more hands. You two feel up to it?"

Sam tried to keep the eagerness out of his voice. "Sure, but from what I heard it should be a simple salt n' burn. Why does he need help?"

"Five spooks, pretty vicious ones from the sound of it," he answered. "The graves are spread out over three cemeteries."

The brothers glanced at each other then gave Bobby a nod. Moving his hand away from the receiver he continued the conversation. "Ok, yeah, count us in. We're on the road right now, what's your 20?" Pulling out a pen he jotted down the address on the paper placemat in front of him then frowned. "Gillette, Wyoming? That's not even two hours outside of Deadwood. Did you think to warn-?" He stopped speaking and shook his head. "All right, all right. Don't get your panties in a twist. You know I had to ask. Look, we were headed in that direction anyway so-"

"Hey, Bobby?" Dean interrupted and motioned enthusiastically toward the cell phone. "Is this the same guy you were talkin' about last night? You know, with the four hundred years and the serial killer and Hitler and everything?"

He began to answer, then winced and covered his eyes with his hand as a raised voice could be heard coming from the phone. "Oh, you heard that, huh?" he said in answer to the shouting. Dropping his hand Bobby glared daggers at Dean, who had the good sense to look embarrassed. "Uh, yeah, your name sorta came up in conversation last night.. Yep, they know... Shot in the head. Kinda hard to explain that one away."

Sam frowned at Dean as well, hoping they hadn't just violated some sort of Immortal etiquette_. You just_ _had to say that?_ he mouthed silently.

Dean spread his hands and shrugged. _What?_ he soundlessly replied.

"All right, it'll take us 'til tomorrow afternoon to get there." Bobby was speaking again. "Why don't you send us what you've got on the job so we'll be up to speed." He gave Sam's email address and promising to call back later said good-bye. Setting the phone down he focused all his attention on Dean, giving him a look that could have scared off a Wendigo.

"Oops."

oooOOOooo

They quickly ate and paid for their meal, taking a whole apple pie to go. In order to make better time they separated-Dean took the van to get it gassed up and give it a quick once over. The last thing they needed was to break down in the middle of nowhere. Bobby hit the local market for food and water; there'd be no more diner meals. They'd eat on the road and stop only for gas or bathroom breaks.

While the others were busy Sam took his laptop to the local library where a sign on the door promised free Wi-Fi. He wanted to look over the information Bobby's friend had sent, plus there was something he wanted to check into. He found a table tucked back in a little used corner that would be perfect. Sam had learned a long time ago to keep away from others when checking out a job in a public place. If someone should look over his shoulder while he was looking at crime scene photos or reading an autopsy report... well, it could be awkward.

Opening the first attachment he read over a police report detailing a string of grisly murders committed over the past few months. Scanning through the thorough research Mac had accumulated he satisfied himself that all the bases were covered, then turned his attention to the suspicion that had been needling his brain since the night before. Searching through national crime reports he felt his lunch turn over in his stomach as he found confirmation of his suspicions. City after city the reports were the same, crime scenes nearly identical. He widened his search to include international incidents and found the same thing. _What could this possibly mean?_ he wondered. He was so engrossed in reading a report out of Seacouver, Washington that he nearly jumped out of his skin when his phone went off.

"_We're almost at the library. You get what you needed?"_ his brother asked.

"Yeah, I got everything." Sam rubbed at his eyes, trying to erase the images he'd been staring at. "I'll say this for Bobby's friend, he doesn't skimp on his research. I didn't have to look up a single thing, it's all here."

"_Aw, I'm sorry Sammy, I'll tell him to play nice next time and share,"_ Dean joked. While he often teased Sam about his almost obsessive attention to detail where research was concerned, it was actually a source of pride with him. Sam often found clues or made connections that others might miss. _"Look, meet us at the front entrance. Bobby wants to get on the road as soon as possible."_

Sam quickly sent the case files, as well as what he found from his own research to the library's printer and waited, his mind spinning in a dozen different directions. _What's behind all those police reports?_ he wondered. _Is it just coincidence, or is there something Bobby isn't telling us?_ Collecting his documents he made his way to the waiting van.

They'd agreed earlier to drive in shifts, one sleeping while the other two drove or navigated. It was Dean's turn behind the wheel and while Bobby stretched out on the makeshift bedroll in the back Sam looked over the information they'd been sent.

"Ok, so in the past two months seven people have been found murdered along highway 50," Sam explained. "Their bodies ripped to shreds, pieces scattered everywhere."

"Why're we thinking spirit? Sound more like a monster: werewolves or vampires maybe."

"First, the lunar cycle is wrong and there were no missing hearts, so definitely not a werewolf. Next there's the amount of blood at the scene." Sam opened the crime scene photos and grimaced at the carnage. "There was way too much, no chance would a vamp waste all that.

"Mac came across a newspaper article. Back in the seventies there were identical murders committed by a bunch of Manson Family wannabes. In a shoot-out with police the five members of the group as well as one of their victims were killed when the building they were hiding in blew up. The police never discovered the exact reason, but they think there might have been a gas main leak that got ignited somehow. Now the police are thinking whoever's committing these murders are copycats, but Bobby's friend thinks it's really the original killer's ghosts."

"So what? They've picked up where they left off?"

"Yeah. The county started doing roadwork along their old hunting grounds. Probably what stirred them up since that's when the killings started up again. According to his notes he found EMF around the crime scenes as well as traces of ecto."

Dean nodded, then shot a look in the rearview mirror. "Hey Bobby, you awake?"

Bobby let out a loud grumbling sigh. "I am now."

"Sorry." Dean waited while he moved forward to sit between him and Sam. "So what can you tell us about your pal Mac? What's his story?"

"His name's Duncan MacLeod." Bobby smiled and shook his head, thinking about the formal way he'd introduced himself. "'Of the Clan MacLeod.' I met him back in 1882 in the Pacific Northwest. He took over my training where my first teacher left off. I traveled around with him for a few years before striking out on my own, and we've kept in touch over time.

"After he... had an encounter in 1997 he called me to ask about what was real or not. We'd talk back and forth about lore or whatever case I came across: what it was, how to track it, how to kill it." _The student_ _became the teacher_, Bobby thought to himself. "About seven years ago he officially threw his hat in the ring and started hunting."

It was Sam's turn to be curious about the other Immortal now. "So what's he like as a hunter?"

"He's like the two of you rolled into one." Bobby grinned in pride, thinking not only about the Winchesters' dedication to the life but his old friend's as well. "He's a methodical researcher like you, Sam. Doesn't leave any stone unturned. Then once he's got his game plan down he executes it with the precision of a Navy Seal. He'll do anything to protect civilians and feels the weight of the world when he fails." He nudged Dean's shoulder. "Like someone else I could name."

Dean rolled his eyes and ignored that last comment. "Sounds pretty hard-core."

Bobby thought for a moment, wondering how much of about Duncan he should reveal. "You gotta understand where he came from," he finally said. "Back in the Scottish Highlands in the sixteenth century he was the chieftain's son, raised to be the next leader and protector of his people. That impulse didn't just go away when he became Immortal, so nowadays he kinda sees it as his duty to protect pretty much the whole world. And after learning the hard way what's really out there he decided the best way honor that duty was to be a hunter."

As much as they wanted to learn more about the man- how he'd spent the last four hundred years, what he and Bobby had done together and most importantly, what it was that pushed him into the hunting life- they respected Bobby's desire to give his friend his privacy. For now they were satisfied with what they knew: that despite his Immortality and long life, the man they were about to meet was a lot like them.

oooOOOooo

A/N 2: Lord Byron was established as a Highlander Immortal in season 5 episode 17 "The Modern Prometheus" and that Jim Morrison was one of his aliases was included on The Watchers Chronicles CD-ROM released in 1998. The idea that Da Vinci is an Immortal is my own.


	4. Games People Play

**Long A/N:** After I saw "The Girl With the Dungeons and Dragons Tattoo" I got excited, thinking my fic was going to be Kripked. But it turns out that, no, my idea for dealing with the Leviathan is different (well, duh! There are no Immortals in canon.) Anyway, if there were ever any doubt that this was going in a totally AU direction let me state it for the record: From "Death's Door" onward this fic will bear little, if any, resemblance to canon. So the way the season ended? Forget it. I might incorporate a few things I liked here and there, but for the most part the story will be going in its own direction.

*ahem* Right. So, back on track. Sorry about the long delay between chapters. I had *planned* to wait until I was done with the Ahriman story before posting this, but (story of my life) it got away from me and is growing by the *minute* practically. So I'll be switching between the two stories from here on out. Plus the odd one shot here and there.

**Disclaimer: ** I own absolutely _nothing_ associated with Supernatural, Highlander or Deadwood. If I did Ellsworth would have lived, Bobby would have lived, Richie would have lived, and the train wreck that was "Highlander: The Source" would never have seen the light of day! I'm just a fan trying my best to add to the worlds that they began.

Many thanks to dnachemlia for the beta.

oooOOOooo

They'd been on the road for more than a day now. The overcast sky occasionally released a light rain that would slicken the roads and force them to slow down, but eager to arrive at their destination they'd stopped just twice for gas, coffee and to switch drivers before rushing off again. Once the initial briefing on the hunt was over an exhausted Bobby retired to the makeshift bed in the back of the van, stretched out, and finally drifted off to sleep.

As the sky lightened with the coming dawn Sam sat silently behind the wheel and watched the road, not even acknowledging his brother's presence beside him. Normally the silence wouldn't have bothered Dean- Sam was often quiet while driving- but this time he seemed different. Distracted. Worried.

"Hey, Sammy? You ok?" Dean asked softly so as not to wake Bobby.

Sam made no response at first, as though he hadn't heard, then quickly blinked and looked over. "Hmm? Oh. Yeah. I'm fine."

"You want me to take over for a while?"

"No, I'm good."

Dean wasn't buying it though. "Really? 'Cause you don't seem 'fine' or 'good' to me." He leaned over and keeping his voice low continued. "Come on man, talk to me. What's wrong?"

Sam smirked at his older brother. "Isn't that usually my line?"

"Ha-ha-ha, very funny. I'm serious here; you've been acting weird ever since you came out of the library yesterday. Now, something's going on with you... so spill."

Sam sighed and adjusted his grip on the steering wheel. Maybe he was worried over nothing. Maybe it was all just a coincidence. Maybe... "I think... I think there's something Bobby's not telling us."

"Well, yeah, he did say there was more, remember? And I'm sure he's got... like a century's worth of crap to tell us about. Just give him time. I mean, now that we're in on the 'Big Secret' I'm sure he'll fill us in on the rest."

"Yeah. Yeah, I guess so," Sam began. "It's just that I found... you know what? Never mind, I'm sure it's nothing."

"It's just that you found what? What's nothing?" He was more worried now. If it had just been Sam's missing wall that would've been bad enough. But Dean was still having trouble with the whole 'I'm almost two centuries old and can't be killed unless you chop off my head' thing. So Sam being concerned about anything having to do with Bobby's Immortality immediately bumped Dean's worry level up to DEFCON three. "Sam? Did he say something to you while I was in the can or somethin'?"

Sam's response was cut off by a loud yawn coming from the back. "What time is it?" Bobby asked sleepily as he sat up and stretched, working the kinks out of his back.

Dean sighed and sat back. He knew that whatever Sam had been about to say he wasn't going to say it now. "It's a little before seven AM," he replied.

Bobby nodded and addressed Sam as he made his way forward. "Give me a chance to get some caffeine in my system and I'll take over the wheel."

"That's ok, I'm fine," Sam said in an even tone, keeping his eyes firmly on the road.

Bobby eyed him skeptically. "Nah, you look half dead. You try and get some rest and let me drive the last leg."

Sam glanced at the folded map next to him. They were keeping to the back roads; the highways, while faster were more likely to have traffic cams and other surveillance methods in place. They couldn't take the chance of the Leviathan tracking them. "According to the map there's a small town coming up. We can gas up and switch drivers there."

"Fine by me." Bobby watched the younger Winchester closely. Sam had fallen silent again, but every once in a while a strange expression would cross his face. As if he was having a conversation they couldn't hear. "You ok?" he asked, echoing Dean's earlier question.

"Look," Sam huffed. "I'm fine. I've just got a lot on my mind right now. So don't worry." He shot a quick glance at his brother and added. "Either of you."

But Dean still wasn't convinced. "You sure about that?"

"Yeah, I'm sure. You know, actually," he said, a ghost of a smile passing over his face. "I haven't seen or heard anything, you know, Hell related, since Bobby's big revelation. I think... I don't know, maybe my brain can only handle one crazy at a time, so right now it's focusing on... this." He gestured in Bobby's direction.

"So my comin' outta the Immortal closet is keeping the devil at bay?" Bobby nodded, grinning slightly. "Good to know." Then he cocked his head to one side, deep in thought for a moment before continuing. "Let me know if Lucifer starts in on you again. I'll tell you about the time Rufus and I ended up running buck naked through a Louisiana swamp with a Letiche hot on our tails. That story's crazy enough to hold you for a month at least."

Sam and Dean both grimaced as unwanted images flashed through their minds. "Uh... Bobby? Promise me something?" Sam said slowly.

"What?"

Sam shuddered before answering. "Promise me you'll _never_ tell me that story!"

Dean merely shook his head with revulsion. There were some things about his old friend he just didn't want to think about.

oooOOOooo

The town turned out to be little more than an overgrown rest stop: a gas station, diner and cheap motel were the main features, with a few scattered houses and shops rounding out the town's borders. While Bobby and Dean went into the grocers across the street, Sam topped off the gas tank and pondered recent events some more. The revelation that there was a race of Immortal humans, and that Bobby was one of them, had initially shocked him but over the last few years he'd learned to quickly adjust. Angels, vessels, alphas, Leviathan-Immortals were just one more new creature.

_No,_ he chastised himself. _Not creatures, beings. Beings who were just... different, like Cas. Or like Pamela or Missouri- humans who had something extra that set them apart. But the beheadings—_

"You just about done there, Sam?"

Sam had been so deep in thought he hadn't even noticed Bobby's approach. _If Dad knew I let someone sneak up on me like that I'd be running laps until I dropped._ "Yeah. Yeah, we're all set."

Dean appeared a moment later. "Dude, we totally gotta remember this place!" He was licking his lips and holding something wrapped in waxed paper. "Handmade pocket pies! Fruit pies, pizza pies, breakfast specials- I got you an egg white omelet one, since I know you're watching your girlish figure."

Sam rolled his eyes. "Funny."

"Hey, what am I, Casper the friendly ghost here that I don't need food?" Bobby demanded in mock indignation.

"Well, you did die. Got the death certificate to prove it and everything," Dean teased, then at Bobby's scowl added. "Relax, I didn't forget you." He held up a bag for approval. "Southwestern scramble, plus I got a bunch more for the road."

Sam laughed quietly as he watched the two of them continue to playfully snipe at each other; the same exchange that could have happened at any point over their lives together. _Maybe things aren't so different now after all. Bobby's still Bobby; the only family Dean and I have left. Maybe I can just ask him about—_

Sam's thoughts were interrupted by the sharp trill of Bobby's phone. "Yeah? Hey Mac. We're about a couple of hours away from you. Just stopped to gas up and..." A sudden frown appeared on Bobby's face and Sam knew that whatever he'd just heard wasn't good. "What kind of 'development' good or bad? Of course. When have things ever been easy? Hang on a minute, the boys are right here. I'm gonna put you on speaker."

Bobby hit a button and set the phone down on a nearby ledge. "Can you hear me all right?" he asked.

_"Loud and clear,"_ a deep voice answered and Sam thought he detected a faded English accent, as if its owner had been in the States too long. _"How about you?"_

Bobby looked to both Winchesters for confirmation before answering. "We hear you just fine. Okay Mac, now what's going on?"

_"First, let me ask you something,"_ MacLeod started. _"You said Sam and Dean witnessed you revive after being shot. That that's why you had to tell them about Immortals. So, I assume that means you're... back to normal?"_

"Well... it took a while to come back. Come to think of it, it took about as long as it did the first time. Other than that," he rolled up his sleeve to examine the cut Dean had made earlier only to find no trace of it having been there, "Healing seems to be back on track too. Why're you asking?"

Mac sighed deeply. _"Because I don't want anyone near this hunt who isn't fully Immortal. We went back out and tried to salt and burn at least one corpse. I think we got maybe two shovelfuls dug up before we were slashed to ribbons. A mortal hunter wouldn't stand a chance. Now, I appreciate your friends' willingness to help, but there's no way-"_

"If these things are as bad-assed as you say then you need all the help you can get." Dean interrupted. "What makes you think you and Bobby can do it alone?"

_"Who is this?"_ MacLeod asked.

"This is Dean."

"And I'm Sam."

_"Good to meet you both finally. You know, Bobby's been telling me about you both for the past dozen or so years; I feel like I already know you."_

"Yeah, well I wish I could say the same," Dean grumbled and shot Bobby a look. "But you were kinda sprung on us in the last couple'a days."

_"Try not to take it too personally,"_ Mac replied. _"It's a big step for one of us, to let a mortal in on our secret. I'm sure Bobby would have told you sooner if he'd found the right moment-"_

"As much as I'm enjoying this little Hallmark moment," Bobby broke in. "Getting back to the hunt? Now, Dean has a point, the more people we have working on the job the faster it'll go."

_"Meth- Adam's joining us as well, so that makes four Immortals with myself, you and Ri-"_

"Wait, wait, wait. Are you talking about the Adam I think you are?" Bobby asked in a shocked tone. "Adam Pierson? You're honestly telling me that you got Mr. 'I didn't get to be this old by sticking my neck out' to help out on the hunt?"

Mac was quiet for a long time, and when he spoke again there was a deep sadness in his voice. _"There was another killing last night. This time... this time they took out an entire family: father, mother, their twelve year old son and another boy. They were coming home from a birthday party for one of the boy's classmates and Bobby... the two boys... they were friends of young Joseph's."_

Bobby stood frozen in time for a moment, then suddenly let loose a string of profanity so explicit that Sam's head snapped up in shock and even Dean blushed. "Bobby! Wha-?" Dean started to ask.

Bobby ignored the boys, focusing completely on MacLeod. "How's the boy doing? He gonna be OK?"

_"Joseph's doing about as well as can be expected, but Adam's on the warpath. He's moved him and Julia into your cabin for the time being and forbidden them to leave until he's sure he's taken care of these bastards. Bobby... Joseph was supposed to be at that party too. The only reason he wasn't was because he got sick at the last minute and they insisted he stay home."_ MacLeod paused a moment, letting what he'd just said sink in. _"That's why Adam's so dead set on seeing this through: his son could have died last night. There's no way I could keep him from this hunt even if I tried."_

"This... 'Young Joseph' is your friend's son?" Sam asked, trying to follow the conversation.

Pinching the bridge of his nose, Bobby took a deep breath to calm himself down and nodded. "He's Adam's eleven year old. The family bought a house just down the road from my place. All right." He shook his head to clear it. "All right, so four Immortals versus five vengeful spirits. That's pretty good odds-"

It was Sam who interrupted this time. "Correction, four Immortals and two hunters." Dean nodded in agreement.

"Boys-"

"Both of you just listen." Sam leaned in making sure MacLeod could hear him as well. "I get that this is a more intense haunt than usual, but Dean and I can handle it. Bobby, you remember the Witnesses? And the warehouse full of people infected with the Croatoan virus? MacLeod, Dean and I have been hunting almost all our lives; we know how to stay safe while getting the job done."

There was a long pause on the line before Mac sighed. "_Bobby, you know them best. What do you think?"_

"I think they're both completely insane and tend to take chances most hunters, mortal and Immortal alike, would think twice about." He held up a hand to forestall any argument from the brothers and continued. "But I also think they're the best damn hunters out there and we'd be crazy not to let them help." He frowned, trying to come up with a compromise that would satisfy everyone. "OK, here's what we're gonna do: Sam and Dean will concentrate on the salt 'n burn itself while us Immortals act as bodyguards, keeping the ghosts attention off the boys. It don't matter if they shred us up, we'll just heal in a few minutes."

_"We can't heal fast enough to keep up with the attacks. I told you, we tried-"_

"But there were just two of you then," Bobby explained. "And you were trying to dig at the same time. Four fighting, two digging. It'll work."

_"Is Bobby's plan all right by you two?"_ MacLeod asked the brothers.

"Well, spending the whole night digging up corpses isn't exactly my idea of a good time," Dean quipped. "But yeah. Sounds good to me."

"With Dean and I both digging at the same time it should go pretty fast," Sam agreed. "And it'll get easier each time. Every body we burn is one less ghost we have to deal with."

_"All right you win, just... be careful,"_ Mac said in surrender, then cleared his throat. _"Bobby, speaking of 'Young Joseph', I had a call earlier from 'Old Joseph'-"_

"I'm tellin' him you called him that!" Bobby snorted.

_"-And he'd like a word with you when you get the time."_

"What about?"

_"Officially, he wants to know if he should move you to the 'Active Roster of Immortals.'"_

"Watchers," Bobby muttered under his breath. "Bunch of busy-body peeping toms-"

_"Unofficially,"_ Mac continued. _"He wants to know how you are. A lot of people have been worried about you the last few years, Bobby. People who care about you and want to know that you're all right."_

Shifting his weight from one foot to the other, Bobby looked embarrassed as he glanced at Sam and Dean. "Yeah, well... I'll call him when I get a minute."

_"So I guess that's everything then. I'll let you guys get going-"_

"Wait," Sam spoke up, afraid if he didn't bring this up now he'd lose his nerve. "Mac, can I ask you about something? I mean, I was going to ask Bobby, but maybe it's better to ask you both..."

_"Something about Immortals?"_

"Yeah. I mean... I mean I don't know, but..."

_"Go on,"_ Mac encouraged.

"When I was at the library I did some additional research..."

_"Oh? Did I miss something in the case files I sent?"_

"You gotta understand," Dean said in a teasing tone. "Sammy loves his research. Dreams about it. It's a sickness, really. We're looking for a twelve-step program that'll take him."

"Dude, shut up!" Sam snapped. "It wasn't about the job. It was about... I looked up the frequency of beheadings in the U.S."

Bobby's head shot up and there was a sharp intake of breath over the phone. "And what did you find?" Bobby asked cautiously.

"That there's a lot more than you'd think." Sam was grim. He'd read the police reports, seen the crime scene photos and desperately wanted to believe there wasn't a connection. "Even if you eliminate the ones that are obviously drug or gang related there are about five hundred decapitations annually. Seacouver, Washington alone averaged almost two dozen yearly between 1992 and 1997. I know that that's how your... Immortal sheriffs take down your bad guys, but that just seems like a lot to me."

Bobby and Duncan were silent for a long time, and then a voice softly came through the speaker. "_You want to handle this, Bobby, or should I?"_

"They're my responsibility, I got it. You rest up and I'll give you a call when we get into town."

_"Alright, I'll talk to you then. Take care. All of you."_

Sam watched as Bobby pocketed his phone and stood there, his eyes downcast. "So this is what's been bothering you?" he asked finally. "And instead of asking me you just let it keep gnawing at you all this time?" He blew out a long breath and shook his head. Looking around, he spied a picnic area set up with tables, benches and chairs not far off. "Come on. You best be sitting down for this."

oooOOOooo

As they walked the short distance to the nearest table the boys kept a close watch on Bobby's expression; he was wearing his 'high-stakes poker face,' making it impossible for either of them to get a read on the older man's emotions.

"Just so you both know," Bobby said once they were all seated. "I was planning on telling you. I just... thought it would be better if you digested what I'd already said first." He dropped his eyes to the ground, and the next time he spoke it was barely more than a whisper. "It ain't just 'Immortal sheriffs' that go after heads. There are some who... headhunt for pleasure."

"Wha-? Why the hell would anybody do that?" Sam was stunned. Of all the possible reasons he'd come up with, that one Immortal would behead the other for the sheer enjoyment of it had never occurred to him.

"They'd do it because of the Game." He raised his eyes to meet each brother in turn. "Every Immortal is bound to it, like it or not. We face each other one on one to the death, until the time of the Gathering."

"Gathering?" Dean repeated, fighting to control his emotions. The more he learned the less attractive this Immortality deal got.

"It's the Immortals' version of 'end times.' Christians have their Apocalypse; the Norse have Ragnarok, Immortals have the Gathering. According to the lore it's a time when those of us who are still alive will feel compelled to fight until there's only one Immortal left in the world."

"So what does the last man standing get?" Dean asked sarcastically. "What, trophy cup? Super Bowl ring?"

"They receive the combined quickenings of every Immortal who has ever lived."

"Quickening?" Sam frowned and looked to his brother, who merely shrugged his shoulders. "Is that supposed to mean something to us? Because we got nothing."

Bobby pulled a knife from his jacket and quickly sliced the blade across his palm, opening a deep wound. As Sam and Dean watched, stunned, tiny sparks of electricity appeared along the edges of the cut, closing the broken skin and making it appear as if nothing had happened.

"That was my quickening," Bobby explained to the wide-eyed pair.

"Holy crap!"

"Yeah," Bobby said, agreeing with Dean. He searched for a way to best explain it to the boys, then realized he had the perfect analogy. "It's kinda like an angel's grace. It's an energy that makes us different from ordinary mortals; it's the source of our quick healing and longevity. Our quickening contains the essence of all the knowledge and strength we've accumulated over our lifetime. When one Immortal kills another they absorb their quickening, adding it to their own which then strengthens it."

"So, it's like a power up in a video game," Sam said, finally finding his voice. "The more of these 'quickenings' you take, the more powerful you become?"

Bobby nodded somberly. "An Immortal's quickening is determined by two things: age and how many heads he or she's taken. Older Immortals, or ones who're active in the Game, like Mac, are often targeted by headhunters. To use your video game analogy they're worth more 'points'. Now, nobody knows for sure what the ultimate prize is. I've heard everything from unlimited knowledge and power, to the ability to have children to becoming mortal again."

"Let me get this straight," Dean said as he stood and began pacing back and forth like a caged animal. "You guys are running around killing each other to win a prize that you don't know what it is or if it's even real?"

"That's about the size of it." Bobby admitted. "The prize for winning _could_ be enough power to make yourself a god..."

"Or it could be a waffle iron!" he spat. "So you're telling me that... that random dudes are gonna just come along and try to gank you for no reason other than they're playing a game?"

"I'm fairly low on the totem-pole," Bobby offered, trying to soothe the boy's nerves. "I avoid challenges whenever possible. In the hundred and thirty-five years I've been Immortal I've fought less than two dozen times. And while one-ninety sounds like a lot to you, in Immortal terms I'm barely outta my teens, so I'm not really much of a target. Last headhunter I faced was almost six years ago."

"And this 'Gathering'?" Sam asked. "Do we really have to worry about another supernatural end-of-world scenario?"

"First off, the world's been on the brink loads of times over the centuries. That's what I was trying to make you understand back in Hammonton. Don't worry about the big picture, just focus on what's in front of you right now. There was a Zoroastrian Apocalypse that Mac shut down back in '97 and locked Ahriman in his cage for another thousand years-"

"Wait, what?" Sam stared slack-jawed at Bobby. "Another Apocalypse, another cage?"

"Cliff Notes of the abridged version is: once every millennium the baddest of bad-assed demons gets sprung topside to face the good guys' champion. If the champion wins it's business as usual for everybody. But if Ahriman were to win... well, you've both been to Hell. Imagine the Earth being turned into that for a thousand years."

Sam felt sick, and by the look on Dean's face he knew he felt the same way. _The world had almost ended fourteen years ago and they didn't even know about it?_ "You said Mac shut it down. Does that mean he...?"

Bobby nodded. "He was the champion this time 'round. Ultimately the fight was on his shoulders, but a few of us helped out with the research and strategy."

"Another 'Team Free Will,'" Dean whispered in amazement, his opinion of Bobby's Immortal friend rising by the second.

Bobby grinned and continued. "And as far as the Gathering goes, I'm not even sure there'll ever be one, but if there will it won't be for a long time yet." Bobby stood to face Dean. "New Immortals keep poppin' up all the time. In the last twenty years I know of eleven 'newborns' and I've run across six others that haven't been 'activated' yet. Now, that's just me; multiply that number by all the Immortals around the world. I got a good friend, Joe Dawson, and he-"

Sam remembered something Mac had mentioned earlier. "Is he the 'old Joseph' you and Mac were talking about earlier? You called him a... a Watcher?"

"I wouldn't call him 'Old Joseph' to his face if I were you," Bobby laughed. "But yeah. Joe's part of an organization called The Watchers... I guess you could say they're historians. They know more about Immortals than anyone and have records on us going back almost to the beginning. Now, Joe says that he's done some checking, and the number of active Immortals stays pretty constant give or take a dozen or so. If he says we're not about to go extinct, I'd be inclined to believe him."

oooOOOooo

It was mid-afternoon by the time they made Gillette. The setting sun painted the autumnal landscape in hues of red and gold as the Bobby and the Winchesters pulled up to the abandoned house MacLeod was operating out of.

"I guess even Immortals have to use hunter's discount accommodations," Dean said, giving the dilapidated building a passing glance.

Bobby rolled his eyes. "Well what were you expecting? The Ritz-Carlton?"

"I don't know." Dean shrugged his shoulders as he looked around. "You said this guy was some kind of chieftain's son from Scotland. I was thinkin' castle, maybe a moat?"

"Moat?" Bobby stared disbelievingly at the older Winchester. "We're in Wyoming you moron. Where the hell do you think you're gonna find a m-" He broke off suddenly with a moan of pain, his hands flying up to press against the sides of his head.

"Bobby, what is it?" Dean asked as he rushed to his side.

"Been a long time since that's happened," Bobby grunted a few moments later, finally regaining his composure. As quickly and silently as he could he entered the van's open side door and reached for a long wooden box. Taking a deep breath he lifted the lid. "I was beginning to think I'd never need this again."

"Bobby!" Sam stared in shock as Bobby pulled out an antique sword, its blade etched with occult symbols. "Perimeter alert," he whispered as he realized what was happening. "You think you sense an Immortal, don't you?"

"Not think, know."

"Maybe it's MacLeod," Dean offered hopefully. "I mean, this is where he told you to meet him."

"Yeah, maybe," Bobby responded slowly. "Stay here until I know for sure."

Both brothers began to protest. "But Bobby-"

"I mean it!" he growled as he turned to face them. "Stay here!" With that he tucked the sword into the folds of his jacket and turned towards the wooded area to the left of the house.

Sam and Dean stood frozen in their tracks. They looked from Bobby's retreating form, to one another and back again, uncertain of what to do. This wasn't anything they'd ever dealt with before; on the one hand, Bobby had been clear that he expected them to stay put until he knew who the mystery Immortal was. On the other hand...

"Screw this," Dean said, pulling his gun from his waistband. "We just got him back. And I'll be damned if I'm gonna let some... freakin' headhunter take him away now." Cautiously he followed after the older hunter, Sam joining him a moment later.

oooOOOooo

"Well, well, well, fancy meeting you here."

Dean cursed under his breath. He and Sam were hiding behind one of the large over-grown shrubs that dotted the grounds, watching as the stranger came out from behind the house to confront Bobby. _That is not MacLeod,_ he decided. _His voice is too high and his accent's American, not English._

"Been a while old timer," the new Immortal said.

"Five years," was Bobby's reply.

The stranger looked Bobby up and down, as if studying him. "You put on weight?"

Bobby cocked an eyebrow at the insult. "I can still handle myself in a fight. Care to find out?"

"Actually, yeah," he said, squaring his shoulders and adopting a stance that reminded Dean of Old West gunslingers. "I've been looking forward to a rematch."

_No-no-no!_ Dean's mind screamed. While he was sure Bobby could handle himself most of the time, years of practice sizing up opponents told Dean this guy was a seasoned fighter. He had a frame that was well toned and built for speed and agility, rather than the bulky body builder look that was all for show. A panther rather than an ox. Dean did not want Bobby fighting this guy.

The two Immortals were slowly circling towards each other now, neither one making the first move nor taking his eyes off his opponent. When they were within an arm's length of each other, as if by some silent agreement, they both reached forward and pulled one another into a friendly hug.

"Good to see you boy!" Bobby laughed as he released the stranger, his eyes dancing.

"You too, Bobby. Man, I've missed you!" It was as if a mask had fallen away, changing the other Immortal's appearance. Gone was the look of a hungry predator sizing up his prey; now he looked more like a young college student home for the weekend.

"I know you two idjits are there," Bobby suddenly called out over his shoulder. "You might as well come out."

The boys slowly filed out from hiding. The sheepish look gracing both of their faces gave them the appearance of children caught with their hands in the cookie jar.

"I'm guessing you two know each other?" Dean asked innocently.

Bobby gave a frustrated sigh. "Sam and Dean Winchester," he said gesturing to the brothers. "I want you boys to meet a protégé of mine." He draped his arm across the other man's shoulder affectionately and smiled. "Boys, say hello to Richie Ryan."

oooOOOooo

A/N2: And now you know why I wanted to hold this chapter until I was done with the Ahriman rewrite. In this 'verse Richie Ryan Lives!

A note on Adam Pierson's wife and son: they _are_ canon. Sort of. In the 2008 Highlander Reunion webisode, he announced that he was marrying a woman named Julia, who had an eight year old son named Joseph. While they never appeared onscreen, and there's some doubt whether or not he went through with the wedding, I liked the idea, so in my 'verse he's a happily married father.


	5. Teacher, Teacher

oooOOOooo

_"Teacher, teacher, can you teach me? Can you tell me all I need to know? Teacher, teacher, can you reach me? Or will I fall when you let me go?"_

"I, uh, would've had the welcome mat out for you guys," Richie said as he switched off the radio and began cleaning up garbage from the folding table situated in the center of the room. "But Mac said you weren't getting in 'til later and were going to call first."

Dean lingered in the doorway watching Richie. Now that he knew he was 'friend' not 'foe' he paid more attention to the young-looking man's appearance beyond just sizing him up as an opponent. Fresh faced with close cropped reddish-blond hair he looked less like an Immortal warrior and more like a college student blindsided by a surprise visit from his parents. The kid definitely wasn't what he'd expected an Immortal to be like.

_Not that I ever expected someone like Bobby to be Immortal either,_ he thought. _And God, can I even call Richie a kid? Just how old is he? Bobby'd said that how old an Immortal looked depended on their age at the time of their 'first death.' Sure, he looks like he should be chasing co-eds around a frat house but he could be centuries old._

Bobby nodded to Richie. "Yeah well, we decided to put the pedal to the metal considering..." He let the sentence drift off. Dean knew the latest attack was hitting Bobby hard. A near miss for a friend was bad enough, but a near miss for a friend's kid wasn't something you wanted to even think about, especially for someone like Bobby who, despite his 'mean old drunk' act, had a real soft spot for kids.

"So Mac told you what happened last night?" Richie asked, looking up to meet the other hunter's eyes.

"Yeah. You hear anything more from Adam?"

Richie shook his head slowly. "Not really, I talked to him one time this morning." He crossed his arms over his chest, almost hugging himself. "He's really torn up over this Bobby. Mac says he hasn't seen him this bad since Alexa."

"Alexa?" Sam asked, trying to follow the conversation.

Bobby turned back to the boys. "Adam's wife before Julia," he explained. "She died of cancer back in 1996."

"I never had the chance to meet her," Richie said sadly. "I was out of town when they met and by the time I got back they'd gone off travelling together. I caught up with him again later that year, but... she was already gone. Mac was there for him though, and according to him Adam was beside himself for a long time, blaming himself for not trying harder."

"Trying harder to what?" Sam asked. "If she died of cancer what could he have done?"

"He blamed himself for not making her immortal."

Dean suddenly snapped to attention. "What? Can you guys do that, turn a mortal into-"

"NO!" Bobby practically shouted, not wanting the brothers to get any ideas. "Immortality is like race: we can no more turn someone into one of us than we could turn them Black or Chinese." He sighed and softened his expression. "There's a legend about a mystical object called the 'Methuselah Stone.' Supposedly it has the power to turn any mortal immortal for as long as they possess it. That's 'immortal' with a little 'i'," he emphasized. "Adam tried to find it for Alexa- did find it in fact- but it was destroyed before he had the chance to bring it back to her."

Dean swallowed hard, trying to imagine how the man must have felt. To be so close to saving someone he loved only to have the chance slip through his fingers at the last second. "No wonder he felt guilty about it," he muttered softly, then raised his voice to normal and asked, "So, he has some experience with hunting then? I mean he knew about the Stone and where to find it."

Richie looked to Bobby for guidance, who spoke up. "He's not a hunter, but he knows the lore and can do the job when need be. Adam was an important part of the group that took down Ahriman."

"Ahriman?" Sam's eyebrows shot up and he shared a look with Dean. "The demon you mentioned earlier? The one that almost started the Apocalypse fourteen years ago?"

"Yeah, that's the one. Adam even faced him personally. He might not have been the one to send Ahriman back into the cage, but he won a pretty tough personal fight against him." Bobby smiled slightly, momentarily lost in the memory. "You don't have to worry about him pulling his weight," he said. "The old man won't let you down."

_'Old man?' Do I even want to know what that means among Immortals?_ Dean stepped forward and nervously licking his lips, addressed Richie. "I was just wondering... I don't know if this is the wrong thing to ask... I mean, maybe Immortals are like chicks, and don't like telling their age, but... how old are you anyway?"

"Well, I don't know how much I like being compared to a woman," Richie laughed, grateful for the change in topic. "But you're right; we tend to be careful about revealing our true age to people. Bobby told you guys about the Game, right?"

"Yeah and that part still freaks me the hell out." Dean glared at Bobby again. He just couldn't wrap his head around the idea of his surrogate father being trapped in a deadly game of 'tag' for centuries.

Bobby snorted back at him. "Hey, I'm not all that fond of it either."

"Bobby talked about 'quickenings,'" Sam explained. "About how older Immortals are more powerful and sort of... worth more in the Game."

Richie nodded. "Right, so jumping up and down shouting 'I'm two-thousand years old' or whatever would get you a line of headhunters a mile long waiting to take you on."

Dean blinked rapidly. _He's two-thousand?_ "Oh yeah, I totally understand that. But... come on." He grinned at Richie and lowered his voice to a stage whisper. "Just between us, how old are you really?"

After another glance at Bobby for an OK, Richie shrugged his shoulders. "I'm thirty-seven."

Sam's jaw nearly hit the floor. "Hundred?"

"No!" Richie laughed again. "Dude, I'm _thirty-seven_. I was born in 1974."

Dean quickly did the math. "That's only five years older than me."

"What? You think we're all older than dirt?" Bobby scowled at the boys. "Trust me; there are Immortals and potential Immortals even younger than Richie out there."

Sam studied the man for a moment. "You must not have been very old when you... you know..."

"I died?" Richie asked. At Sam's nod he pursed his lips and looked down. "Yeah. I was just a couple of months past my nineteenth birthday."

"What happened?"

"Stupid junkie," Richie muttered. He took a deep breath and faced both brothers. "It was a mugging. Guy wasn't happy with just my wallet, watch and the keys to the car, so he shot me twice in the chest."

"Damn." Dean shook his head, thinking about what it must have been like for a young kid like Richie to be killed like that. And then to come back? "How soon after that did Bobby find you?"

"Find me?" Richie frowned in confusion. "I didn't meet Bobby until '97 when Mac called him about Ahriman."

Now it was Sam and Dean's turn to be confused. "I thought Bobby said you were his student?" Sam asked.

"For hunting," he clarified. "Mac was my teacher for the Immortal stuff, but everything I know about the hunting life I owe to Bobby."

"Hey, don't sell yourself short." Bobby grinned proudly at the red head. "You were the one who found that locater spell back when we were tryin' to break Dean free of his demon deal."

Sam blinked in surprise. "The one you used to pinpoint Lilith's location?"

"Yup. And without him we might never have put the Witnesses to rest."

At Sam and Dean's shocked expressions Richie just shrugged. "I found the spell back when we were facing Ahriman. We weren't sure right away how to fight him or what exactly he could do and the description of the 'Rising of the Witnesses' kinda fit with what we were experiencing."

"It did?"

Richie nodded, then went on to explain. "Mac was being haunted by people whose deaths he was connected to. Kronos and Horton he killed himself, Allison was killed by the demon after she tried to help Mac. Then... there was Tessa."

"Tessa?" Sam asked softly. "Who was she?"

Richie swallowed hard, the pain of the memory evident on his face even after many years. "She was Mac's fiancée. She and I were killed in the same mugging. Only difference was, I woke up. She didn't. Mac was still holding her body in his arms when I came to."

An awkward silence filled the room, no one really sure what to say after that. "So, you knew MacLeod before you became Immortal?" Dean asked, hoping to steer the conversation to a more comfortable topic.

Richie smiled slightly. "He and Tess were the best foster parents I ever had."

For a moment Dean thought he'd heard wrong. "Wait, MacLeod's your father?"

"Well, no," Richie quickly corrected himself. "Not exactly. And Tess wasn't anywhere near old enough to be my mom." He paused in thought for a moment. "Well, maybe if she'd been a teen mother. But it's just that... I met Mac and Tessa a month before I aged out of foster care. I wasn't going to have any place to live, I didn't have a job and they sort of... took me in. You know, gave me a place to stay, fed me, even let me work in their antiques store. But more than that they made me feel like I belonged there. It was the closest thing to a real family I ever had."

"A lot of us sorta look at it as our sacred duty." Bobby pulled up two folding chairs for Sam and Dean before perching on the arm of an old sofa that had clearly seen better days. "When we find someone who's destined to become Immortal one day we tend to watch over them, guide them if possible to make the right choices and do well in life. Then once they die the first time we take them on as students and teach them what they need to know. The good teachers not only teach about the rules of the Game and how to fight to stay alive, but also to actually live a better life."

"Mac taught me about philosophy, history, art..." Richie rolled his eyes and chuckled lightly. "He tried to get me to appreciate opera but... I don't know. It's been almost two decades and I still don't get it."

Dean didn't even need to think about it. "I wouldn't get it in two centuries!"

Laughter rippled through the group. "Yeah, I hear ya there," Bobby said, agreeing with Dean. "He might have some questionable taste in music, but Mac's real good at reading people and finding out where their strengths are. He's the one who discovered I had a natural ear for languages. We settled in San Francisco in 1886 not too far from Chinatown. Mac's fluent in Chinese," he explained, "And when he noticed I was picking it up quickly he arranged for me to take lessons. From there it went onto Italian, then Spanish, French, German-"

"Wow." Dean whistled in amazement. "So we have Mac to thank for you being a walking Babel Fish?"

"Among other things," Bobby admitted.

"For me," Richie said slowly, "It was hunting. When Mac first called Bobby in I didn't know what to expect. I guess I was picturing him looking creepy. You know, dressed all in black with a bunch of rings on every finger and mystical amulets hanging from his neck." The group laughed, imagining Bobby as a Goth nightmare. "So when he showed up looking like just a regular guy I was surprised. Then he let me look through his journal, answered my questions... even taught me a few things like the signs of demonic activity and how to make holy water. Mac saw how taken I was with everything and... he encouraged me to go back to the States with Bobby to study with him."

He walked over to an ice chest sitting in the corner and pulled out four beers, passing them out before continuing. "When I first became Immortal I kept feeling like there was something important I was supposed to do. I mean, I'd been given this amazing gift; there had to be a reason for it." Richie laughed softly and shook his head. "I know no sane person would ever choose hunting if they had an alternative, but... I just felt like this was it. This was what I was supposed to do with my life."

Silence once again descended, and Dean looked at Richie with a new respect. Almost every hunter he knew had the life thrust upon them: either experiencing firsthand the horrors of the supernatural world or being raised in a hunting family. But Richie could have done anything with his life and he _chose_ this.

"So Mac does this a lot? Watch over potential Immortals?" Sam asked. His voice was slightly hoarse, and Dean knew it was because he was as affected by Richie's confession as he was.

Richie nodded and began ticking off examples on his fingers. "Mac took me in, arranged for Michelle Webster's adoption, sponsored Claudia Jardine's education-"

Dean was beginning to think his jaw would never be the same after dropping so many times in the past two days. "The classical concert pianist?"

Sam stared at his brother in amazement. "You... you know who Claudia Jardine is?"

Dean ducked his head slightly and swallowed, knowing he'd been caught. "Crappy TV in the motel room only got two channels. It was either her concert from Paris or this stupid sci-fi movie about Stonehenge," he insisted, then gave his brother a wide grin. "Besides, she was seriously hot."

"And she'll stay 'hot' for the next several centuries if she can keep her head," Bobby added. "There are a few people I'm keepin' my eye on too, just in case. Two of them... I'd lay odds they're gonna join the club within the next five years. Though," he gave a disgruntled snort and shook his head, "one of them... I'm praying to God, or whoever the hell will listen, doesn't get activated. Because I do _not_ want to have to deal with his crap for centuries!"

"Anybody I know?" Dean asked. He mentally went through everyone he and Bobby were mutually acquainted with, but couldn't imagine any of them being an Immortal. Probably one of those things only another Immortal would notice, he mused.

"Sorry, kid." Bobby shook his head. "It's not exactly a rule, but we generally don't tell someone ahead of time what they are. That means I haven't told them, and if I haven't told them I'm sure as hell not tellin' you."

"Well, whatever." Even though the curiosity was killing him Dean knew better than to pursue the subject. "Anyway, MacLeod sounds like a really decent guy. Watching over all those people and taking Richie in like he did."

"Yeah," Richie agreed. "Especially when you consider I only met him 'cause I tried to rob his store."

Sam and Dean openly gaped at him. "What?" they asked in unison.

Richie shrugged and gave an unapologetic smile. "Hey, it's a living."

He then explained to the wide-eyed brothers about his first encounter with a sword wielding MacLeod and told them about the arrival of the other Immortals Slan Quince and the elder Highlander, Connor MacLeod. When Richie described the fight on the bridge and ensuing Quickening both Winchesters froze in horror.

"Is... is that what it's always like?" Dean hadn't really understood what Bobby meant when he talked about taking another Immortal's Quickening at the time, but now, hearing about it in detail like that made his blood turn cold. Out of the corner of his eye he noticed Sam was staring at Bobby, a strange look on his face and Bobby was giving him and equally odd look in return.

"Pretty much, yeah." Richie combed a hand through his hair, deep in thought. "As freaky as it was to see, nothing could compare to what it was like the first time I was on the receiving end. Having this blast of energy tear through you and all these strange images and memories from the other guy flood into your mind, it was just... Sam? Are you OK?"

Dean turned toward his brother and saw that Sam was now white as a sheet and shaking slightly, but what worried him most of all was that Sam was digging his thumb into the scar on his right palm so hard Dean was surprised he hadn't pushed through to the other side already. "Sammy? Talk to me man, what's goin' on?"

"I'm fine," was his whispered reply.

"The hell you are. I can tell when somethin's wrong-"

"I need some air!" Sam bolted from the room, one hand clasped over his mouth, the other clutching his stomach. Dean began to follow, but stopped when he felt a hand on his shoulder.

"I got this," Bobby said pushing past him. When Dean began to protest he shook his head and insisted. "I got a feeling I know what this is about. Just... let me handle it."

He watched as Bobby took off after his younger brother, wondering what it was Bobby knew that he didn't. Whatever it was, Dean was sure he wouldn't like it.

TBC...

oooOOOooo

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><p>AN: Song lyrics are from "Teacher, Teacher" by 38 Special.

While Methos and Alexa never officially married, in the "Postcards from Alexa: Holy Ground" chapter from the Highlander anthology_, An Evening at Joe's_ the two of them recite marriage vows to each other while spending the night under the stars at the Grand Canyon, and Methos later heartbreakingly demands his rights as her husband when she's dying in the hospital in Geneva. (Find the book if you can. The eight Methos/Alexa chapters alone are worth the purchase price.)


	6. Soul Man

A/N: OK, I am never setting a deadline for myself again! I wanted to get to a certain point in the story by mid-November, and if I wrote a chapter per week and a half I could have made it. As soon as I decided that however the muse up and took a vacation, so the chapter that should have taken less than a week to finish up took almost a month. *fumes*

Anyway, thank you to everyone who reviewed, favorited or chose to follow this story and a very big thank you to those who are following me as an author. Every time I get a notice I do the dance of joy.

Warning: Descriptions of vomiting at the start of this chapter, so you might not want to read it while eating.

Thanks, as always, to dnachemlia for the beta.

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><p>oooOOOooo<p>

Sam braced his shoulder against a tree and heaved violently. What little had been in his stomach when he escaped the house was now long gone and dry heaves had set in. _This can't be happening. Not on top_ _of everything. Why, Bobby?_ he pleaded in his mind. _Why didn't you tell me?_ As another wave of retching wracked his body Sam felt a strong hand grasp his shoulder while another began to rub his back in slow, firm circles.

"Just take a deep breath, Sam. It's OK." Bobby's voice was gentle, like the tone you'd use with a frightened animal. "I promise you, it's OK."

His touch had an immediate calming effect. The familiar sensation brought back memories of similar situations in the past, such as the time a vicious flu virus sidelined all three Winchester men. John had barely managed to coast the Impala into the salvage yard before passing out and they all spent the next week in their own personal Hells; their dad was unconscious most of the time while he and Dean practically lived in the bathroom, worshipping at the porcelain altar. It seemed like no sooner did Sam drop to his knees then Bobby was there with a cool cloth and a bottle of old fashioned ginger beer, rubbing his back as he was now.

Sam turned so that his back was pressed against the tree, its rough bark digging into his skin. He shut his eyes tightly and took deep gulping breaths, willing his body to relax further. The first thing he saw upon opening his eyes was the silver flask Bobby was holding in front of his face. "Oh God, Bobby, no. I can't," he gasped as his stomach protested at the thought of alcohol. "Really, I don't think-"

Rolling his eyes, Bobby explained. "It's holy water. Go on and get that taste outta your mouth. You'll feel better."

Sam gratefully accepted the flask, using the first two mouthfuls to rinse away the taste of stomach acid and bile, then took a long deep drink, sighing in relief as the water cooled the burning in his throat. The relief was only fleeting however, for no sooner had the liquid reached his stomach than another spasm sent it back up.

Bobby caught him as he pitched forward, dizzy from the exertion. "Come on Sasquatch," he sighed wearily. "Let's sit you down." He half led, half dragged Sam to a fallen tree and pushed him down onto the trunk. "Try sipping instead of chugging this time," he said as he pressed the water back into Sam's hands.

Nodding, Sam obediently sipped, taking in only a drop or two at a time. Just as his body began to calm, his mind too ceased its violent reaction and the ability to form rational, cohesive thoughts returned. He had to know. "Bobby? I know you said earlier that you won't tell someone if they _are_ going to become Immortal but... would you tell them if they _aren't_?"

Bobby huffed a short humorless laugh. "What, being an angel's meatsuit and a Winchester to boot isn't enough for you? You wanna add freak of nature Immortal to the list?"

"No! I don't want... I just-"

"This has got somethin' to do with you getting you soul back, don't it?"

The question brought Sam up short and he blinked in surprise. "How did you know?"

He sighed and looked off into the distance. "I've had a... feeling there might be some sort of connection between Quickenings and souls for a while now. Started when I saw Death shoehorning yours back into you. Then Cas told me about souls being energy, but it was watching him release all those souls back into purgatory that cinched it."

"What does it mean?" Sam felt sick. When he'd learned about the Game he was apprehensive, but Bobby had been able to allay his fears. This, however... "When my head broke and I had to put the pieces back together... It was just like what Richie described. I 'killed' the other Sams, then this burst of energy flowed out of them and into me. Suddenly everything they knew, I knew: thoughts, memories, emotions. Everything. Was that… did I take a Quickening? Am I going to become an Immortal?"

"No, Sam. That's not what happened and no, you ain't a future player in the Game."

"But then what-"

"I don't know." Bobby was silent a long moment, then shook his head. "I gotta admit that what Cas did-sucking up all those souls to give himself god-like power sounds an awfully lot like-"

"The Prize." Sam swallowed hard. "Is that what a Quickening is? A soul?"

He shook his head again. "No, I don't think that's it, or at least not all of it. I mean, if we were somehow absorbing each other's souls there wouldn't be any Immortal ghosts 'cause everything we are would become part of whoever took our head. But there have been plenty of sightings over the years: Alec Hill haunted his wife; Mac had visits from Fitzcairn and Sean Burns when he was in trouble and about to give up. And Ahriman summoned the ghost of one seriously evil Immortal by the name of Kronos to haunt Mac when the two of them faced off in the nineties. Not to mention a few of the corpses I've salted 'n burned over the years had been decapitated, leading me to wonder if they'd been one of us." Bobby rubbed his eyes wearily. "I don't know, this is all new to me too and I haven't exactly had a lot of down time to ponder the possibilities. Listen, folks a lot smarter than me have been trying to figure out what the whole Quickening/Game/Prize thing means for thousands of years now. Tons of theories have flown around but we ain't any closer to the answer. But one answer I am sure of is that you are one-hundred percent mortal." He silenced Sam's protest with a wave of his hand. "Just hold up and think a minute. You remember how I said Immortals get jumpstarted?"

Sam shrugged, not understanding where Bobby was going. "A violent death."

"Right. Kinda like, oh I don't know, getting stabbed in the back after a big fight maybe?"

Sam's eyes slowly widened as it dawned on him what Bobby was referring to. "Cold Oak."

"Yep. You were... gone for a full day. Now it's true that the first time we come back it takes a while for our batteries to recharge, but I ain't never heard of it taking more than a few hours. So if you were one of us you'd have come back long before Dean ran off to play kissy face with that demon." Sam sighed in relief, but Bobby wasn't finished yet. "And if that ain't enough to convince you, here's something else. Everyone from Yellow-Eyes to the angels to Lucifer himself have all said the same thing: you and Dean are special because of your bloodline. Cupid even roofied your folks to make sure you two were born and the bloodline continued, right?"

"Yeah, so?"

"Well, Immortals don't have bloodlines."

"What?" Sam frowned, trying to understand. "What do you mean you don't have-"

"We're foundlings, every last one of us," he said matter-of-factly. "Nobody knows where we come from or how we come into being- whether we're born or... hatched from eggs for that matter, we ain't got a clue. Now, Richie grew up in foster care; Mac was taken in by his folks after their son died at birth-"

"And you?"

Bobby looked down and took a deep breath before answering him. "Foundling home until I was nine. Then... well, I guess folks figured I was big enough to be useful and I got 'adopted' by a family two towns over. But all I ever was to them was a farm hand they didn't have to pay. That and an extra punching bag for my 'father'," he added under his breath. Looking up he smiled sadly at the horror on Sam's face. "It was a long time ago. A _really_ long time ago. And I did learn a lesson from the old man: I learned what kind of man not to be." He shook his head to bring himself back to the present. "Anyway, my point here is that anyone who can trace their family line, even if it's just back to their parents, can't be Immortal." He laid a hand gently on Sam's forearm. "You and Dean may have a lot of crappy issues to deal with, but Immortality is not one of them."

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><p>oooOOOooo<p>

By the time Bobby ushered a haggard looking Sam back into the room Dean was nearly frantic. "It's about damn time!" he shouted. "What the hell happened back there Sammy? I mean one minute you're ok, the next you bolt outta the room like you've got a hellhound on your tail."

"I'm fine, Dean," was all Sam could manage to get out.

"You're fine? Oh, yeah, sure. Yeah, you absolutely look fine."

"Dean-"

Dean turned his frustration on Bobby. "What happened between the two of you out there? You said you thought you knew what it was about, so let's hear it!"

Bobby wasn't sure what to say. Dean deserved the truth, but one look at Sam's pale, exhausted face told him the younger Winchester wasn't up to explaining his end. "Later, OK Dean?"

Dean stared, unblinking, at Bobby for a long minute. "'Later?' Seriously, that's all you're gonna say to me? 'Later'?"

Grabbing Dean by the arm Bobby pulled him off to a corner at the opposite side of the room. "Dean, look at your brother," he said in an angry whisper. "He's wiped. Just... give him some time to wrap his head around everything-"

"Wrap his head around what?" He cast a look back at Sam who sat slumped at the table, his head cradled in his hands. "OK, I get it. Sam's not up to a big heart to heart. What about you?"

Bobby closed his eyes for a moment and sighed. There was no way he could explain things without Sam's input. "Look, it wasn't a hallucination. He's not seeing Lucifer or images of Hell he just... hearing Richie's story just sorta reminded him of something, that's all." He grasped Dean's shoulders, giving them a gentle squeeze. "Dean, please, just trust me."

Dean hesitated, and Bobby could see in his eyes the need to know warring with his faith in the old hunter. "Yeah, all right," he said at last. "I'll back off. But I'm telling you now Bobby, once we get to your place I want it all. The whole story, no more holding back."

"You'll get it," Bobby replied, then added in his mind, _I just hope you can handle it all._

* * *

><p>oooOOOooo<p>

Bobby and Richie chatted while the latter continued to clean up, catching up on news of old friends. While the two of them talked Dean walked around, taking inventory of everything in the room. The house Richie and Mac were operating out of looked no different than any of the countless ones he and Sam had shared over the years: broken down furniture, dusty moth eaten curtains that blocked out both the sun and prying eyes and various bits of research and evidence scattered about, covering the walls and every available surface.

"You know, you don't have to do that," Bobby said with a slight laugh as Richie swept empty take-out containers and crumpled newspaper off the makeshift table and into a trash can. "Trust me, livin' with these two I've seen much worse."

"No. No, I know, it's just..." Richie stood, hands on hips and sighed. "It's just that this is the first job I've worked with you since..."

"Since I pushed you outta the nest and sent you off to hunt on your own?" At Richie's meek nod Bobby chucked softly. "It's not like I'm gonna be grading you, ya know."

"I know!" Richie laughed and raised his hands, the high pitch of his laughter making him seem even younger. "God, I don't know what I'm doing. Sorry."

"Don't worry about it, kid. I'm kinda touched you still want my approval." Bobby smiled as he helped by depositing an empty pizza box into the trash. "So where are Mac and Adam?" he asked.

"Mac had to make a supply run into Deadwood. Let's see, what'd he say again? 'I'm going to go steal a few things out of Bobby's storage lock-up, don't tell him.' Whoops." The mischievous grin on the kid's face told Dean that comment was no accident. "Anyway, he's gonna pick Adam up from the hospital on the way back. They should be here shortly."

"Hospital? Mac mentioned that Adam's son is sick, is he that bad?" Dean frowned, worried the hunt might be taking the man away from his seriously ill son.

"Oh, no sorry." Richie held up a hand and smiled. "Adam's a doctor in the ER. Memorial hospital's on the way from Bobby's place, so they figured it'd be easier for him to hitch a ride with Mac rather than drive in himself."

Dean shrugged. "Yeah, makes sense I guess."

Richie nodded, then nervously began shifting his weight from one foot to the other as he turned to his fellow Immortal. "Uh, Bobby?" he said apprehensively. "You know, the news of your 'return' is spreading fast."

"Seriously?" The older hunter looked up in surprise. "It hasn't even been two days yet."

"The internet, ya gotta love it. Anyway... I got a call earlier."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah." Richie bit his lower lip and added, "From James in Lead."

"Oh?" Bobby froze. "Oh."

Another nod. "He wants you to call him when you get the chance."

"Uh-huh."

"He said you'd know why." Richie raised his eyebrows and looked at Bobby expectantly, but he just gave a noncommittal grunt.

"Who is this guy Bobby?" Dean asked with more than a touch of worry in his voice. "What's he want with you?"

Bobby sighed and wracked his brain, trying to come up with a story. _Aw, the hell with it. Might as well_ _tell the truth,_ he decided. "Don't worry about James, he's a friend... And an ex-hunter," he added hesitantly.

That drew Sam's attention back to the room. "'Ex-hunter'? Bobby, there's no such thing."

"Not for mortal hunters maybe, but things are a little different for us." Bobby pulled up a chair and sat next to Sam, motioning to Dean to do the same. "We Immortals can't stay in one place too long, otherwise folks will notice we don't age. Even with the transient life hunters lead we still have to be careful about that. Maybe even more so for hunters since we run the risk of the others deciding we need to be hunted ourselves. So, once we've been around too long- or if we die publicly- we have to move on to a new life somewhere else."

"So that's why this James guy isn't hunting?" Dean asked.

Bobby gave a single quick nod. "He was 'killed' by a demon and his body discovered before he had a chance to heal and cover up the evidence, so he left the country and let people believe he was dead. He only came back last year, but he's still staying away from mortal hunters for the time being." He paused to take a deep breath. _Here goes nothing._ "These days he goes by James McKenna, but... I think you boys know him better as Jim Murphy."

For the second time in two days Dean felt his world turn upside-down and he struggled to make the pieces fit again. "Pastor Jim?"

"Pastor Jim's alive?" Sam asked, staring wide-eyed at Bobby, who just nodded.

"I can't believe I'm asking this question again, but," Dean sighed and rubbed a hand across his forehead, "Anymore doornails coming out of that door?"

Bobby tried not to laugh. He remembered hearing about Dean's reaction to Sam and Samuel's resurrections and could only imagine how the young man must be feeling now. "No. Just Jim."

Sam shook his head in disbelief. "But why... why didn't he tell us he was alive like you did? Where's he been all this time?"

Bobby decided to answer the easier question first. "He went back to Europe for a while. There's a monastery in Austria that was founded for Immortals who want to get out of the Game and heal from what living like we do for centuries does to us. He spent a couple of years there, then went back to Greece to... reconnect I guess you'd call it, with his roots. He was originally from Thessalonica."

Dean frowned. "Thessawhat?"

"Thessalonica," Bobby repeated. "It's a city in Greece. Back in Roman times it was an important trade city in the region, as well as a major foothold of the early Christians. You know the Letters to the Thessalonians in the Bible? Well, that's where the Thessalonians were from. Jim's been a Christian preacher for almost as long as there's been Christianity. And as for why he didn't say anything to you... Well, first of all John was still alive, and Jim had a pretty good idea of how he'd react." He paused as both boys rolled their eyes and nodded in agreement, knowing the reaction the elder Winchester would have had. "But mostly he was just too shell shocked to talk to anyone. You gotta understand, what Meg did-attacking him in his church like that- it shook Jim right to his core. For nearly all his Immortal life he relied on God and holy ground to keep him protected."

Sam frowned in confusion. "Holy ground?"

"It's the only place Immortals are truly safe," Richie explained, taking a place at the table. "No Immortal, no matter how evil they are will ever attack on holy ground. It's probably the most sacred rule we have. Cemeteries, Christian churches, Native American sacred land... it doesn't matter. As long as some group considers the place to be holy, we're forbidden from fighting there."

Sam and Dean shared a look, a puzzle piece from their childhood finally slotting into place. "That's why Jim almost never left his church?" Dean asked. "He was staying on holy ground; keeping out of the Game?"

Bobby nodded. "Jim was-is- a man of peace. He vowed to never raise his hand against his fellow man, and for more than one and a half millennia he mostly kept it. In all that time I've only heard of him fighting three other Immortals and only one of them didn't walk away afterward. But the problem with staying on holy ground for centuries is you tend to grow complacent. You forget that not everyone-or everything- out there respects that rule and you leave yourself open to non-Immortal attackers."

"Like demons, for instance," Sam said.

"Exactly," Bobby agreed. "So between that and losing his voice he felt... I don't know... lost I guess."

"His voice?"

He grimaced, remembering what he'd been told of the attack. "When Meg cut his throat she severed his vocal cords. It took a long time for him to be able to talk above a whisper, and even now his voice isn't the same."

Richie took up the narrative. "If Meg had shot him in the head or stabbed him in the heart he'd have been fine. But she got him in our one vulnerable spot. The throat is the only place where we don't heal instantly and completely. Oh, it healed eventually, but it left a jagged scar behind and destroyed his voice. Same thing happened when Mac fought an opera singer back in the 20's named Kalas. Kalas almost took his head, but Mac managed to cut his throat with a piece of glass. They both survived that encounter, but Kalas never sang again."

The brothers sat in silence, occasionally looking at each other, and Bobby knew what they were thinking. Jim's voice had always been his most striking feature. Not because it was particularly beautiful, or that his singing ability was deserving of a recording contract. But the way it could convey strength and gentleness, power and humility all at the same time was what caught most people's attention. When he gave a sermon even Dean, who usually used church time to catch up on his comic book reading, paid attention. For him to have lost that gift...

"I want to see him," Dean insisted and Sam nodded in agreement.

Bobby smiled at them both. "That's what the phone call, and all the others before it, were about. Now that he's back Jim's after me to come clean about what he and I are. He even planned to fall on his sword for me-metaphorically speaking. He was going to reveal his Immortality to you, and then depending on how you reacted I'd either chime in or keep quiet. That way if you couldn't accept it I wouldn't risk losing you." He laughed quietly to himself. "Guess that plan's out the window now."

Dean chuckled softly. "Yeah, that's Jim for you, always thinking of others."

Bobby grinned and nodded. "That he does. So it's settled then? Tomorrow I'll take you over to his new church. It's not even ten minutes from my place."

"Sounds good, but first we've got a job to do. Any idea when the rest of the team will show up?"

As if on cue they heard the rumble of a car engine and the crunch of tires on gravel as another vehicle pulled up outside the old house. Dean watched as both Immortals stiffened, reacting to some unseen force.

Gritting his teeth Bobby took a deep breath. "Showtime."

* * *

><p>oooOOOooo<p>

A/N2: I'm starting to wonder if someone from the SPN visual effects team used to work on Highlander. Go back and watch Sam's dream sequence from "The Man Who Knew Too Much," Castiel expelling the souls back into purgatory in "Meet the New Boss" or the ghost soul-sucking scene from "Of Grave Importance" and tell me they don't look like Quickenings to you.


	7. Princes of the Universe

A/N: I know I've said it before, but I just wanted to take a moment to thank everybody reading and following my little ramblings, especially those who've left a review. I've already personally thanked those of you with accounts, and I'd like to say thanks to my anonymous and "guest" reviewers. It really feels good to know that others are enjoying the ride with me. I'm in the middle of writing the next chapter of Sands of Time: Beginnings, so that'll be the next story updated.

OK, I'm trying something new: a flashback. The flashback sequences were often my favorite part of the Highlander series (who could ever forget the over the top Regency house party with Methos, Byron and the Shelleys in season five's _The Modern Prometheus_?), so I'm giving it a whirl and showing you all a glimpse of Deadwood, ca. 1877. I hope it works, trying to capture William Sanderson's portrayal of E.B. Farnum and getting right the unique dialog and speech patterns that _Deadwood_ creator David Milch wove into the show was trickier than I thought it'd be.

Thanks, as always, to dnachemlia for making sense of my ramblings.

* * *

><p>oooOOOooo<p>

Dean watched silently as the two Immortals reacted to some unseen force: Richie merely stiffened and looked toward the door while Bobby once again winced and pressed the heels of his hands into his temples.

"Bobby?" Richie frowned as a hiss of pain escaped from the older hunter's lips. "Dude, what's wrong?" But any response from Bobby was halted as a pair of voices announced the new arrivals.

"Adam, for the love of God will you please give it a rest?"

"Look, I'm not saying you can't listen to your music at all, MacLeod. I'm just saying would it kill you to listen to a little Springsteen now and then?"

"Listen old man-"

"Rolling Stones? Queen?"

"Enough!"

Dean turned his head just in time to see the two men enter the room. While both were tall with short dark hair, that was where the similarity between them ended. Dean recognized the first man's voice as belonging to MacLeod. He was broad shouldered and muscular, and by the way he carried himself Dean could tell he was someone who actually needed to be in shape, rather than one of those ass-clowns who were always going on about 'six packs' and 'glutes.' Like Richie, this man was a warrior.

The second through the door Dean assumed was Adam. Once upon a time he'd accused Cas of looking like a 'Holy Tax Accountant,' and as he studied the man Dean thought to himself that the description was just as appropriate for Adam. Like Cas he wore a suit and tie, his slender build swallowed in an oversized trench coat and arms swinging slightly as he carried in six fast food bags. He looked only slightly older than Richie, with a goatee accenting his angular face.

"Well, how about just while I'm in the car-"

"My car, my music. Deal with it!"

Dean grinned at the bickering pair before shooting Sam an 'I told you so' look. "See? I'm not the only one with the 'driver picks the music' rule."

The newcomers turned first toward the sound of Dean's voice, then seeing Bobby smiled and approached. "Bobby, it's good to see you again!" MacLeod dropped the two satchels he was carrying to grasp Bobby's hand and clap him firmly on the shoulder.

"You too, Mac." Bobby stood and smiled in return, then pulled back to thumb toward the brothers. "You've sort of met Sam and Dean already."

"Of course." Mac approached the pair as they got up from the table and shook hands with them both. "Thanks again for helping out. I have to be honest, I'm still a little leery about having mortals along, but I know Bobby wouldn't have agreed to let you come if he didn't think you could handle it."

Bobby snorted under his breath. "Yeah, like I could ever stop those two idjits from doing something dangerous."

"Hey, I appreciate your wanting to protect us," Dean told Mac, ignoring Bobby's jab. "I mean really, after all the crap we've been through the past few years it's nice to know there're other hunters out there who'd have our backs."

"Ah, at last, the famous Winchester brothers." The bearded man set the food bags on the table and stepping forward with a smile extended his hand first to Sam then Dean. "Dr. Adam Logan. It's a pleasure to finally meet you."

"Logan?" Sam quirked his head at the name. "I thought Bobby said your name was Pierson?"

A light chuckle rippled through the group of Immortals. "Sorry," Bobby told the boys. "I knew him as Pierson the longest and still sorta think of him that way. Logan's a recent development."

Adam rolled his eyes at his old friend. "If you recall I was 'Adam Matheson' and 'Ben Adams' between Pierson and Logan, so you should have gotten over it by now."

"So why'd you change it?" Dean asked as Adam shrugged out of his long over coat.

"Because, unlike certain individuals," he gave Mac a stern look, "I prefer to change my identity when I need to move on. So, I'm afraid dear Adam Pierson died of old age."

"Old age?" Wrinkling his brow in confusion Sam shifted his glance between Adam and Bobby. "What exactly does that mean?"

Bobby reached into the cooler and pulled out two more beers. "Like I mentioned earlier, Immortals can only last so long in one place before people notice we're not getting any older." He passed the bottles to Adam and Mac before taking another drink from his own. "Fifteen to twenty years is generally the limit. A bit less if you're like Richie and died young; more if, like me, you were older. Cover the grey hairs with dye or add more in with bleach, shave or grow a beard and I can pass for anything between forty and sixty-five; seventy if I add glasses but... that's really pushing it." He paused in thought for a moment. "Do you know how long 'Bobby Singer' had lived in Sioux Falls when he died, officially?" Sam and Dean looked at each other and shrugged their shoulders. "Thirty-five years. Thirty-five years with me not lookin' much different from this." He shook his head. "Best I can figure, folks didn't question it because I was away hunting so much that nobody really noticed."

"People were beginning to comment on how young I looked," Adam said, continuing his story. "I started getting everything from open skepticism about my age to requests for the name of my plastic surgeon. So, I faked my death and moved on. I became Dr. Adam Matheson, got married and became a father, then a couple of years ago I 'died' in an earthquake- compliments of Lucifer and his apocalypse- and had no choice but to start over again."

Sam nodded in understanding. "So that's when you changed your name to Logan?"

"Logan was my son's choice. To make it up to my family for making them move I let them choose our new name. My wife insisted I keep the name Adam since that's what she'd always known me as, and Joseph picked Logan for our family name," he explained with a grin. "He's somewhat obsessed with the character Wolverine from the X-Men, and apparently I have a ...few things in common with him."

"Ha! That's just what I said, remember?" Dean asked Bobby, a huge grin on his face, then turned back to Adam. "When Bobby first told us about this Immortal stuff I asked if it was like Wolverine- you know, being born with it like mutants, the not aging, fast healing, can only be stopped by decapitation and keeping the head separate..."

"Well for us decapitation alone does it." Adam grinned at the older Winchester. "You know, I think you and Joey would get along great. He can quote chapter and verse from the movies and comic books and I get the feeling you could too."

"Yeah, about that." Sam eyed his brother suspiciously. "Dude, how do you know all that stuff?"

"I do watch things other than _Casa Erotica_ on our downtime you know. One of those movie channels was having a 'Mutant Marathon.' _X-men_ one and two, _Last Stand_, _Origins: Wolverine_-"

Sam huffed and shook his head. "And you accuse me of being a geek."

Adam grinned at the boys before turning to Bobby and nodding toward the bags. "Now then, I know that since you rediscovered your mortality you've been trying to eat healthier, but now that you're back in the fold I thought you might like to... celebrate a bit." He began passing the bags out to the others. "We've got bacon double cheeseburger deluxe all around. Fries, onion rings-"

"Oh yes! Come to papa!" Richie quickly snatched up a burger and began wolfing it down.

Mac made a disgusted sound and rolled his eyes at his young friend. "You know, it's a good thing you're Immortal. It's the only way you'll survive eating that way," he said.

Taking a wary sniff Bobby's eyes flew open wide as he recognized the aroma coming from the bag. "Mustang Sally's? You went to Mustang Sally's?" He buried his nose in the bag's open top, his eyes rolling back in ecstasy as the familiar scent engulfed him. "Honey, I'm home!" he sighed happily.

Dean stared openmouthed at Bobby, having never seen him react this way to food before. "What the heck is Mustang Sally's?"

Adam was equally amused at his old friend's behavior. "A sports bar and grill on Main. They make the best burgers in Deadwood."

"Best burgers in South Dakota!" Bobby insisted as he emptied his bag on the table.

"I'll take your word on that," he laughed as he passed out the last of the food. "I rarely eat there. I always feel like I'm cheating on my wife when I walk through the doors."

"Why?" Dean asked with a grin as he accepted a bag from Adam. "What, are the waitresses hot or something?"

"No," Adam insisted, then thought a moment. "Well all right, maybe a few of them are, but that's not what I meant. My wife Julia is a professional chef and part owner of a saloon and restaurant just down the street. So..."

"So you're fraternizing with the enemy then?"

"Right," Adam said, then reconsidered for a moment. "Well... Not exactly. Like I said, Mustang Sally's is a sports bar-it's a modern building with flat screened TVs tuned in to ESPN and other sports networks, and the food is more typical of an American diner. The Bella Union is a historic landmark, completely rebuilt and decorated to look almost exactly like it did in the late 1870's, right down to the pattern of the carpets and the paintings hanging on the walls, and the menu is more upscale. So the clientele they attract is somewhat different."

"What did they do, use old photographs for the restoration?" Sam asked, starting in on his food.

Adam watched in amazement as Dean downed half his sandwich in two bites before he turned to answer Sam's question. "No, they went by eyewitness accounts."

"Diaries then?" Sam's eyes went wide as both Bobby and Adam shook their heads, snickered and gestured toward each other. "Wait... Both of you?"

"Julia's partner in the saloon was there too," Bobby added through a mouthful of food.

Dean set his burger down and stared. "You and Bobby knew each other way back then?"

"Dr. Matthew Adams at your service." His grin widened and he tipped an imaginary hat to the boys. "I was only in town for about a month while 'Ellsworth' was living there just before his first death. Which is probably why he didn't recognize me when we met up again in Paris a few years ago."

Bobby shrugged slightly. "That, plus 'Doc Adams' looked completely different from 'Adam Pierson': longer hair, full beard. Different accent too."

"Well, like I said, I change my identity when I start over. Anyway, the first time we met I didn't even realize Bobby was the one giving off a pre-Immortal 'buzz'. We were in the Grand Central's crowded dining room at the time and he was sitting with his future wife and stepdaughter." He turned to Bobby with a soft smile. "Remember?"

Bobby got a distant look in his eyes and returned the smile "Like it was yesterday," he said as he watched Adam clear the empty bags from the table.

oooOOOooo

Deadwood mining camp, 1877

Dr. Adams dropped the bags to the hotel's floor with a grunt. He was tired, dirty and after spending many days on horseback, saddle sore. He'd taken the train as far West as Chicago, then opted to ride the rest of the way to Deadwood instead of taking the stagecoach. While the coach might have been more comfortable he much preferred the flexibility of setting his own pace. There were several people he wished to avoid -one more so than others- and if he felt the need to suddenly change course or take to holy ground... well, he'd rather not have to explain himself.

Tapping the desk bell once he only had to wait a moment before a greasy haired man in overly ornate clothes appeared. "A very good morning to you sir. Do you require lodging?"

"I require a room, a bath, a meal and directions to Dr. Cochran's office," Adams sighed. "Not necessarily in that order."

"I see," the man said, rubbing his chin. "Doc Cochran is currently at a house of ill repute, tending to a shooting victim. If you are in imminent need of medical attention I can send a member of my staff to fetch one of the other camp physicians to see to you."

"Not necessary. As it happens I am one of the other camp physicians." He offered his hand. "Dr. Matthew Adams. Dr. Cochran placed an advert in the New York Times for a partner in his medical practice and I'm here to fill the vacancy."

"Well then," the man gave a wide smile and shook Dr. Adams' hand, "Let me be the first to welcome you. E.B. Farnum, owner and proprietor of the Grand Central Hotel and mayor of Deadwood."

"Mayor Farnum." Adams tried to discreetly wipe his hand on his pants, hoping it was just sweat dampening Farnum's hand. "About my room, then?"

"Yes, of course. If you'll just fill out the guest register." Farnum slid the book and pen across to Dr. Adams and studied him intently as he wrote, looking like a vulture perched over its next meal. It took Adams several long minutes of negotiation-during which Farnum somehow convinced him to act as the hotel's in-house physician- before he was finally allowed to check in.

"Wonderful sir!" Farnum clasped his hands together and grinned. "Now, as to your list of requests, might I suggest you begin with breakfast in the hotel restaurant? I will need a bit of time to see to it that your room is properly cleaned and aired out for you. The bathwater will likewise require time to heat." Receiving a nod in reply he came out from behind the desk and began ushering Adams into the already filled to capacity dining room. "Right this way Dr. Adams. Don't mind the line, hotel guests receive priority service."

The moment Adams stepped through the archway separating the dining room from the lobby he felt it: the unmistakable soft hum of not yet realized Immortality whispered along the edges of his consciousness. _No! No-no-no-no-no!_ his mind screamed. _I already did my good deed this century._ He'd left Byron's company the year after that fateful summer they'd spent with the Shelleys and was not at all interested in taking on another student just yet. As Farnum loaded up a plate for him and prattled on about the various comings and goings of the camp he carefully scanned the room, taking in the assortment of prospectors, businessmen and travelers, but it was impossible to discern who was causing the hairs on the back of his neck to rise.

"As you can see by the crowded conditions meals here at the Grand Central are very popular." Farnum was craning his neck this way and that, searching for an empty table. "People enjoy the atmosphere so much they linger even long after they've finished their meals," he said in a loud voice, glaring at a group of men sitting at a table and nursing their coffee. "Even though common manners dictate they should vacate in the presence of other diners. Particularly new physicians, who've come all the way from New York City to tend to the needs of those here in the camp-"

"I beg your pardon, doctor," a soft voice called out to their left and Adams turned to see an attractive, elegantly dressed woman sitting beside a young girl and older gentleman motion to an empty chair at their table. "I believe this is the only available seat at the moment. And you are more than welcome to join us."

"Ah, the happy love birds invite you into their nest." Something in Farnum's oily smirk made Adams want to smack the man, and judging by the dark looks the couple were giving him he wasn't the only one. "I'll leave you to their company then." Farnum started to move away, then turned back to address the woman. "I have much to do in preparation of your impending nuptials."

"Thank you, Mr. Farnum," she called after him as civilly as she could though clenched teeth. Turning to Adams she gave him a genuine smile. "I'm Mrs. Alma Garret. It's a pleasure to meet you doctor..."

"Matthew Adams," he said as he took his seat. "And thank you very much for your hospitality." Though the location was somewhat uncomfortable, with his back against the wall and only a few inches of clearance between himself and the table, he was pleased to note that he now had a perfect view of the entire room including the doorway. All he had to do was watch who left the room when the sensation subsided and he'd have his future Immortal.

The woman introduced the young girl as her ward, Sofia, and while the gentleman was old enough to be Mrs. Garret's father, to Adams' surprise he turned out to be her fiancé, a Mr. Ellsworth, whom she would wed the next day. _Well, who am I to pass judgment over age differences?_ he thought to himself. As they ate they chatted about various things: Mrs. Garret inquired about news from New York, where she was originally from, and they discovered they had several acquaintances in common. They discussed their hopes for the future of the camp and as other diners passed by the table Dr. Adams was introduced to the local newspaper editor and the operator of the Cheyenne and Black Hills Telegraph Office, who Adams promised to visit later with a message for his lawyers in New York. All the while he remained alert, waiting for the mystery Immortal to make his exit. But the other, it seemed, was taking his time.

"Well, it was nice talkin' with you, Doc," Ellsworth said as he stood up. "But I really need to check in at the lady's claim, seein' as how I'll be away for a few weeks after tomorrow evening."

Mrs. Garret likewise vacated her chair and urged young Sofia to do the same. "Yes, and I have several things that I need to attend to as well. It was truly a pleasure to make your acquaintance Dr. Adams." She paused in thought a moment. "Perhaps, if you are not too tired from settling in, you would consider having dinner with us tonight?"

Adams, who'd risen out of respect when the ladies stood, widened his eyes in surprise, not expecting to be accepted quite so quickly. "Yes. I mean, that is if you're sure I won't be intruding."

"Oh not at all," Ellsworth answered eagerly. "Much as I enjoy the ladies company, it'd be a relief not to be the only fella at the table."

Adams gratefully accepted the invitation, and as he watched the betrothed couple leave with the child he felt the buzzing in his head recede and knew his quest was narrowed down to three possibilities. _Not_ _the girl, please,_ he implored to every deity he'd ever heard of. _Let it be Ellsworth or Mrs. Garrett._ The woman had introduced Sofia as her ward, not daughter, leaving the child's origins in question. She was almost at the age where Immortality could be triggered by a violent death, and in a camp such as this a violent death was around every corner. If Sofia couldn't make it to adulthood she stood no chance in the game.

"Dr. Adams?" Farnum's voice intruded into his thoughts. "Your room is situated; and there's enough hot water whenever you're ready for your bath."

"Thank you, Mr. Farnum." He stretched his neck a bit, rubbing at the knot that had been forming ever since he realized he was not the only one of his kind in the camp. "I think I will have that bath now. Just let me collect a few things."

"Of course." Farnum pressed a room key into his hand and began leading him towards the flight of stairs.

"Mr. Farnum?" An idea struck him. The hotel owner seemed like the type of man who had his nose in everybody's business. Maybe he could shed further light on the situation. "I was wondering, what can you tell me about the family that I was sitting with?"

"The widow Garret's a resident here in the hotel; though I imagine once she and Ellsworth wed they'll be moving into a house somewhere. She and her late husband came out from New York a little over a year ago to prospect in the hills. The husband fell to his death leaving the widow with a bonanza gold claim to deal with and Ellsworth's been overseeing production at her mine ever since."

"And the child?"

"A Norwegian foundling-"

"Foundling?" Adams felt his heart sink. _I guess that settles it then._

Farnum nodded sadly. "A terrible tragedy. The whole family murdered by Indians on the Spearfish road and the child the only survivor." He grimaced like a bad actor telling a gruesome tale. "She was being gnawed on by wolves when the rescue party found her."

Dr. Adams was about to ask Farnum which was it foundling or orphan when he felt the buzzing resume and spun toward the hotel's entrance door.

"Forgot my hat," Ellsworth explained as he dashed back into the dining room. Adams wanted to kiss the man he was so relieved. Hat now in hand Ellsworth approached him with an embarrassed expression. "Also, Mrs. Garret wanted me to invite you to the weddin' tomorrow. Whole camp's invited to the festivities afterward, but she'd like you to attend the ceremony. I reckon you being from New York's got her feeling a bit homesick, and seein' as how you know some of her people..." He let the sentence drift off with a shrug.

Dr. Adams grinned broadly as he studied his prospective student. "My dear Mr. Ellsworth, I wouldn't miss it for the world."

oooOOOooo

"So, you were planning on being Bobby's first teacher?" Sam asked. Getting a nod from Adam he further inquired, "Then what happened? Why didn't you?"

A dark look crossed Adam's face and he shifted his attention back to his meal. "I got word that, ah... someone I'd rather not have encountered was headed to town, so I had to make a hasty retreat. I always planned to come back, and eventually I did, but I missed Bobby by a few months."

"Thank God for small favors, I hate to imagine how he would've turned out with you as his teacher." Mac quipped. At the glare Adam shot him he elaborated, "Face it, you don't have good luck with students: Byron, Silas-"

"Two examples out of how many?" Adam shot back. "And what about Joanie? Or Andrew or Jim? They're all normal, productive members of society. Hell, if Jim were a mortal he'd have been canonized by now."

As the puzzle pieces fit together Sam's eyes bulged and he rocked back in his chair. "Jim? Do you mean Pastor Jim? He was your student?"

"I ran into him at the Coliseum in 93." He waved a dismissive hand. "He was busy entertaining a lion and I thought it best to get him out of there before he died and came back too many times. Not to mention there was the risk of something important being chewed off."

Sam and Dean stared motionless at Adam, who just sat there calmly wiping his hands with a napkin and acting as if he'd said he picked-up the man's dry cleaning rather than rescued him from being repeatedly eaten to death. "Uh, thanks for... helping him?" Sam said, not really sure what the appropriate response should be.

"I can't believe Bobby was sitting right next to you and you didn't realize he was the guy you were looking for," Dean snorted, redirecting the conversation. "I mean, I thought you guys could recognize each other in a crowd."

"It ain't that precise." Bobby took another swig of his beer and gestured to his fellow Immortals. "We get that buzzing feeling when we're near each other but if the other fellow doesn't make it obvious we can't tell who it's coming from."

"Make it obvious how? Whip out their sword and announce themselves?"

"No, nothing that dramatic." Leaning forward on his elbows MacLeod tried his best to explain. "When we sense another of our kind we instinctively look around. The impulse is almost overpowering. But sometimes mistaken identities occur. I remember back in... 1728 I was riding in a coach on my way to Dover when it was held up. Now, the highwayman thought the young noble traveling with me was the Immortal and was about to take the man's head when I stepped in."

"Also the sensation doesn't get any stronger or weaker with proximity. You can't use it to play 'Hot and Cold'." Adam reached for one of the satchels and pulled out a laptop. "How about a little dinner music? Good music that is," he added, giving Mac a sharp look.

Just before the media player blocked out the screen Dean caught a glimpse of the computer's wallpaper: a picture of Adam sitting in a garden with an attractive red-head seated to his right and a young boy of no more than ten between them. "That your family?"

Adam beamed and nodded as he reached for his beer. "Yeah, it was taken two years ago when we went down to Louisiana to visit Julia's parents. I've been meaning to update the image, I just haven't gotten around to it yet."

"It's a nice picture anyway." And it was. The three of them looked truly happy and content... not to mention Julia was a serious MILF, though Dean knew better than to say that out loud. He'd just met the man and didn't think he'd appreciate the comment even though it was complimentary. _Never a good_ _idea to piss off a guy who carries a sword,_ he thought. But it was the boy that really caught his attention: except for his striking blue eyes, which he obviously inherited from his mother, Joey was a near clone of Adam. _Easy to tell who that kid's father is._

"So, how is your son?" Dean asked him. "Mac mentioned that he was sick?"

Adam set his bottle down, and gave him a slight smile. "He'll be all right, it's just a minor respiratory infection. But because Joey's an asthmatic we have to be extra careful, even a slight cold can trigger an attack. That's what happened; he woke us up around four thirty in the morning barking like a seal, then spent the next six hours in hospital hooked up to IVs and oxygen and having nebulizer treatments... If that hadn't happened... he would have gone to that party. He'd have been in the car when..." He huffed a short, sad laugh and shook his head. "I never imagined his having a serious medical condition would save his life."

oooOOOooo

As they waited for the sky to darken they continued talking with Adam's laptop providing their entertainment: a musical assortment of various artists and genres. When a bluesy cover of Neil Young's _For the Turnstiles_ came on all four Immortal's heads whipped around to stare at the machine, as if expecting the singer to materialize from it.

"So, when does he get in?" Bobby asked, turning his attention back to his dinner companions.

"Tomorrow afternoon," Adam replied. "I'm hoping that seeing Uncle Joe-as well as Uncle Bobby- will help lift Joey's mood. He's gotten so quiet since... All we get out of him are one word answers and the occasional grunt of acknowledgement."

"It's been less than two days and the kid's been through the wringer," Bobby said quietly. "First he gets sick and ends up in the ER, then this happens. Just give him some time."

Adam nodded, then took a deep breath and ran a hand down his face, obviously trying to reign in his emotions. "I never bothered to ask if you were OK with all of this," he said. "I mean, I seem to have taken over your house without even bothering to ask permission. If you want we could move out and Joe could stay with us."

"Nonsense. You, Jules and Joey-you guys are family, my door's always open to you. _Mi casa es tu casa_," he added with a wink. "And as far as Dawson goes... well, I need to have a chat with 'Mr. Big Shot Watcher Man,' and I'd just as soon do it with home field advantage."

Dean finally put two and two together. "Joe Dawson? That's him?" he asked, pointing toward the laptop. Getting a nod from the group he continued. "And he'll be in town tomorrow?"

"Yeah, he's coming for Thanksgiving." Adam grabbed few fries out of the bag and stuffed them in his mouth. "Joe and I have been friends for... oh, going on twenty-five years now. He usually spends at least part of the holidays with us." He quirked a smile and chucked under his breath. "You know, it's the closest relationship I've ever had with a mortal I wasn't married to."

Sam smiled at the affection in the man's voice. "Is that why you named your son after him?"

"No, that was just an odd coincidence. 'Joseph' was the name of Julia's first husband." He frowned at the Winchesters' confused looks. "I was his step-father until last year when I formally adopted him. I assumed you knew."

"Well, you know what they say about people who assume things." Dean tried to cover his surprise with a cocky grin. "Seriously though, I thought he was yours. I mean except for the eyes the kid looks just like you."

"Yeah, it's weird how that turned out, isn't it? People who don't know often joke about how I 'put my mark' on him. But... how could you have thought I was his birth father? You know I'm Immortal right?"

Dean was getting more confused by the moment. "Yeah, so? What difference does that make?"

"Well, I thought Bobby explained to you about us."

Dean's face fell and he shot Bobby a dirty look. "There somethin' you'd like to share with the class, Bobby?"

Bobby gave a weary sigh and shook his head. "Look, I'm telling you stuff in order of importance. The fact that Immortals are sterile ranks pretty low on the priority list."

"You..." Sam blinked in surprise, then turned to the others present. "All of you?"

Mac nodded. "In all of our history no Immortal has ever fathered a child or given birth."

"Not even before they became Immortal," Richie added. "Back when I was... new, this girl I used to go out with claimed I was the father of her little boy, but..." He glanced at Mac for a moment before continuing. "I wasn't. It's just not possible."

Once again the brothers sat in shocked silence, this time tinged with sadness. "Bobby, I'm sorry," Dean said quietly.

Bobby narrowed his eyes and leaned forward. "For what?"

"C'mon. I know the 'mean old drunk' act is just an act," Dean insisted. "I know how you are about kids: you took care of me and Sam when we were little, and anytime we work a job, if there are kids involved you go out of your way to make sure they're safe and not too scared."

Sam slowly shook his head with a sorrowful look in his eyes. "Bobby, if ever there was a guy who'd be an awesome dad it's you. I just... I think it's terrible that even with hundreds of years ahead of you you'll never be a father."

Bobby straightened in his chair and gave the Winchesters a stern look. "All right, let's get one thing straight: there's more to being a father than contributing DNA. It's about being there for the kids: patching up boo-boos, playing with them, tucking them in at night. Or teaching them to hunt and track and helping them with their Latin homework," he added staring the boys straight in the eyes, reminding them of their own history with him. "So there won't be any mini-mes running around, so what? I mean, I know it's a huge tragedy that my stunning good looks won't be passed on to the next generation," he teased, "but really boys, I'm all right with it. I had you two rugrats to look after from time to time, and I had my Sofia way back when. And... there've been a few others over the years. If I get to the point where I want to raise kids again there's plenty of them stuck in group homes and foster care. So... don't cry for me, Argentina. All right?"

Sam huffed softly and smiled. "I guess I didn't think about it like that."

"OK, Bobby," Dean agreed quietly. "Whatever you say." He didn't know why he still felt regret that Bobby would never have a child of his own. It wasn't like he'd expected the older man to settle down with 2.5 kids and a white picket fence before he learned about his Immortality. It just struck him as unfair was all.

"Good. Glad we got that settled," Bobby said, then turned his attention to Adam. "Now, what's been going on since I was home last?"

"Well, you missed this year's Deadweird," Adam grumbled slightly, giving him a reproachful look.

"Intentionally. After last year's nightmare inducing disaster I'll never subject myself to that again!"

"Uh, 'Deadweird'?" Sam asked, his eyebrows raised.

"It's a Halloween festival the town puts on," Adam explained. "There's a parade, parties, a costume contest. A group from the hospital always gets together and does a big theme for the competition, last year it was _The Rocky Horror Picture Show_-"

"And if being a hunter hadn't soured me on the holiday already, seeing Dr. Robinson in fish net stockings and corset would have done it a hundred times over!" Bobby shuddered dramatically and finished his beer in one gulp.

"True." Adam nodded in agreement. "Casting him as Frankenfurter was a mistake. I should have played the part." As the entire table stared at him in shock he deadpanned, "I have much better legs."

Richie dropped the remains of his burger in disgust. "Ah! Dude please, not while I'm eating!"

He gave the young Immortal hunter a look of mischievous glee before continuing. "Well this year's theme was the zombie apocalypse, but with a slight twist. We paid off one of the sound techs so that when the group reached the judging area music would start playing and everyone-including a certain blonde resident," he added with a wink at Bobby, "would break into the _Thriller_ dance."

Bobby became very still. "Please tell me someone took pictures," he said looking eagerly at Adam who smiled back at him.

"I was cameraman for the evening. I've got the video loaded on my laptop whenever you want to see-" No sooner had Adam pointed toward the device than Bobby made a grab for it. "It's the icon marked 'Thriller.'"

Bobby pulled the computer closer to him and started the video. A group of seven zombies dressed in hospital scrubs, nurse uniforms and lab coats shuffled randomly into frame, moaning and staggering in typical monster movie fashion. Then once they were in formation the music started and they all began to dance in unison: stomping, arms swinging and hips gyrating in a perfect emulation of the Michael Jackson music video.

"OK, as much as I hate Halloween, that," Sam laughed as the lead zombie pulled off his white coat to reveal Jackson's red Thriller outfit hidden beneath, "would have been cool to see."

"Seconded," Dean agreed. While the video played he kept sneaking glances at Bobby whose eyes never left the right corner of the screen where a young blonde in green scrubs was dancing. _Interesting..._

"Well, next year we'll have to make sure we're not workin' a job when the festival's on," Bobby told them. "Now that the cat's outta the bag you boys can consider my place in Deadwood your home same as you did in Sioux Falls."

"There're a ton of stills of both the festival and the town in general in the photos file if you want to have a look," Adam said to the Winchesters as Bobby closed out the video program.

Bobby passed the laptop over to Sam and Dean who eagerly began paging through the images. There were pictures of groups dressed up as Smurfs and Oompa-loompas, vampires, aliens and of course plenty of cowboys and dance hall girls celebrating the town's Wild West past. In another sub-folder they found photos of Adam's wife and another woman, both dressed in period costume, standing proudly beside a sign that read:

Grand Opening

Bella Union Saloon

Est. 1876

Pictures from the building's interior showed a roulette wheel, craps and poker tables, and Dean grinned remembering that small stakes gambling was legal in Deadwood. No need for shady back rooms and keeping watch over his shoulder for cops, he could make some extra cash while indulging in his appreciation-_not_ obsession like Sam insisted- of the old west all by the light of day. Then the pictures started getting more personal: images from what looked like family birthday parties and Christmas celebrations flipped across the screen and just as Sam was about to close the laptop one photo in particular caught both their attention.

"Uh... Lucy?" Dean said in his best Ricky Ricardo voice. "I think you got some 'splainin to do." He turned the screen in Bobby's direction, showing him a picture of himself dressed in pajamas and a robe and seated between two women: a young blonde who looked to be in her late twenties and an older woman with salt and pepper hair. He had his arms around both of them and they in turn were holding him tightly, leaning in to rest their heads against his shoulders. Dean glanced at the old hunter with a mixture of awe and revulsion. "Is this another part of your secret life? You're a Wild West Hugh Hefner?" He looked back at the screen, noticing both women wore similar gold rings. "Or a Mormon?"

Bobby glared at Adam accusingly, but instead of wearing his usual smirk the other man looked both surprised and apologetic. He turned back to the boys and started to explain. "It ain't what you're thinking-"

"Yeah, whatever you say, Big Love," Dean interrupted and turned the screen back to examine the picture again, then it finally clicked where he'd seen the younger girl before. "Blonde zombie chick." He tapped a finger against the image of the smiling blonde, her pretty face no longer hidden behind layers of Halloween makeup. "This is the blonde zombie chick you couldn't take your eyes off of in that video, isn't it? C'mon, Bobby, fess up. You got yourself a couple of sisterwives waiting at home?"

"Well, you're right about the 'sisters' part." Bobby took a deep breath. "They're my daughters."

oooOOOooo

* * *

><p>AN2: With the arrival of Adam/Methos we move more into the Deadwood section of this story and I feel the need to state something for the record. My version of the city of Deadwood is what I imagine David Milch's _Deadwood_ might have evolved into had the characters and events in that series been real. So, like his story, mine will be a blend of fact (such as Mustang Sally's and the "Deadweird" festival) and fiction (E.B. Farnum did not own the Grand Central and Alma Garret Ellsworth never existed.) Where fact and fiction collide I will defer to Milch's version. While I've made every attempt to portray Deadwood and the surrounding areas accurately it's been a long time since I last visited the historic city, so my apologies to Black Hills residents for any errors I've made. Other than historical figures used in _Deadwood_ and _Highlander_ canon and some public figures mentioned in passing, any similarity to actual individuals living or dead is purely coincidental, and no offence is intended.


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